


Come in From the Cold

by TheYmp



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Minor Character Death, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-04 05:18:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheYmp/pseuds/TheYmp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seeking shelter with a handful of strangers and circled by beasts, who can Sam and Dean trust when they don't even trust each other?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.
> 
> Set just after 8.05 Blood Brother before going slightly off-canon: Sam has met Benny, but Castiel's not back; considered lost.

_**I fear the sentence of this solitude** _  
_**200 years on hold**_  
 _**Oh, and all we ever wanted**_  
 _**Was just to come in from the cold**_

**_\- 'Come in from the Cold', Joni Mitchell_ **

With a secure arm wrapped around his brother, Dean forged his way through the last of the undergrowth. He emerged from the limited shelter of the trees and breathed a ragged sigh of relief.

Visibility was so poor that it had been more a matter of faith that he had thought he'd seen the church spire from a couple of miles back. Although the building in front of them was disappointing in its obvious dilapidated state, to Dean's eyes, after being caught in an unexpected blizzard, it was like seeing the gates to Paradise.

"Okay Sammy, we're nearly there, man. Just a little bit longer and we can rest and get you cleaned up." The words were more for his own benefit. Sam was too weak to do more than nod and mumble in incoherent agreement, his features all too pale from cold and blood loss for Dean's liking.

Dean took a deep breath and hoisted his brother into a more secure position, ignoring the burning scream of complaint from over-taxed muscles. He made a loping run for the church, feet dragging through the deepening snow building up on the ground, and he squinted into the freezing blast that stung at his face. Somehow he managed to get them to the large wooden door of the church without tripping or breaking their ankles over any of the low gravestones rapidly disappearing from view under a heavy layer of snow. Dean was almost tempted to prayer by the realization that not only did the church seem to be structurally sound, but that the door was not locked and opened easily at the touch of the handle.

He bundled them through the doorway without a second glance, and pushed the door closed behind them with one foot. The crash echoed ominously in the sudden silence, away from the howling of the storm and despite the ringing of ears complaining of their sudden defrosting.

~#~

_Hidden high in the dusty rafters, he watched the two men come thundering into his domain. There was something special about these two he realized, although he couldn't quite determine what it might be._

_He had a strange impression of the light bending around them in odd, but different, ways as if they somehow seemed more real than the other interlopers in the building. He was distracted from the rest of that thought by the metallic smell of blood,_ **_lots_** _of spilt blood_. _He ran his tongue over his wickedly sharp teeth in agitation. Even the smell of it didn't seem quite normal._ _Who are they? What are they?_

_Sensing more movement below, he decided it was safer to retreat for a time and he eased himself further into the shadows._

~#~

At the sound of the door crashing shut, Ted had run to the church entrance thinking that maybe it had slipped the latch again.

"Come in from the cold," he called in welcome to the two young men, dodging a sudden fall of dust from the ceiling as he motioned them through the porch into the main nave of the church.

He was somewhat ashamed to admit that on a second glance the appearance of the men gave him pause, they just looked so _formidable_. They were too young to number among the vanishingly small parishioner community that he knew by sight and they certainly didn't have the look of the normal tourists.

"Welcome to St. Michael's," he added, eyes widening at the sight of the blood staining the taller man's clothes. His mind turned to the recent, unpleasant reports in the newspapers.

"Michael?" the shorter of the two men pulled a face as if he'd tasted something unpleasant.

"Yes, that's right," Ted answered, realizing that he was shaking with nerves, but he couldn't seem to help himself.

The man muttered something sarcastic under his breath, and Ted might have been mistaken, but it sounded a little like, "Oh, that's just _awesome_."

The man seemed to collect himself. "D'you have a first aid kit?" he asked making the question sound like an order.

Ted jumped in alarm as the man went into a defensive crouch at the sound of the others coming out of the kitchen. Before he could say anything, the man seemed to dismiss them as any potential threat and relaxed somewhat, but not before Ted spotted the hilt of a handgun soon tucked out of sight.

~#~

_His nose wrinkled at the acrid smell of sweat and fear, but from what he'd sensed so far about some of those below, well, maybe that was the only sensible reaction so far..._

~#~

Dean breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of a handful of twenty-somethings who all gave off a safe, civilian vibe. He watched as the pastor busied himself with getting them to help find a rudimentary first aid kit.

"Is he all right?" asked a petite, brunette woman, helping him to steer Sam over to a nearby pew.

Dean was too focused on Sam to catch the question, but gave her a tight smile of thanks; Sam was a big guy and, with him still not quite conscious, it was an effort to manhandle him into place. "Let's have a look at ya," Dean muttered, pulling off his brother's soaked jacket and shirt. The woman gasped at the huge claw marks.

A short-haired, slender young man stepped forward with hesitant steps, placed his hand with an almost reverent gesture alongside Sam's jaw and seemed lost in his own thoughts.

"D'you mind?" growled Dean, bristling at the sight of a stranger touching his brother.

The young man looked up and blushed. "Oh, er, sorry, it's just he looked kinda gray. His pulse seems a little thready – I think he might be going into shock."

Dean gave an embarrassed scowl, but let it go. He continued to fuss and fumble around Sam in agitation, cursing himself as his hands shook from a combination of adrenaline and the strain of carrying his brother for so long.

With a deliberate motion the young woman placed herself in Dean's way, "Listen, Donnie's an EMT; he knows first-aid like no one else. Why don't you let him take care of your... er...," she seemed to flounder on what to say next.

"Brother, he's my _brother_." Dean eye-rolled, _Jeez, what's wrong with people?_ he wondered.

"O-kay," answered the woman with a bright expression as she steered him further out of the way, "Well, I'm Cheryl. You've already met Donnie, and this is Aidan," she said, indicating the solidly-built redhead of near Sam-like proportions who had at some point appeared at her side and was now giving Dean the evil eye.

"And over there's Karen and Lee. We were all gonna go camping, would you believe, when this blizzard blew in. Luckily the good Reverend here took pity on us and was kind enough to give us sanctuary." She gave a smile of relief over to Ted, who had returned with a medical kit that he'd handed to Donnie.

The pastor stood by looking awkward, and it seemed obvious from his body language that he was nervous about something.

"So you were caught out too...?" asked Cheryl raising an eyebrow and making it clear she was waiting for an introduction.

"Uh, Dean. Yeah, my car broke down a little ways back."

"So, what happened to your brother?" asked Aidan, trying and failing to avoid sounding suspicious.

"Grizzly," Dean answered with a smooth lie.

"Really?" asked Aidan, his skepticism clear. "I've camped in these woods for years and never heard of anyone seeing a bear before."

"Well, how else do you explain the scratches?" asked Dean, in an ominous voice.

"Now, now, boys," Donnie interrupted with a forced laugh. "The important thing is that - luckily for Sam - most of the wounds are fairly superficial. He's lost a lot of blood and he definitely needs to take it easy, but it looks a lot worse than it really is." He patted Dean on the shoulder. "He should be fine."

Dean didn't like the weird group, almost as a point of principle, but he was so relieved by this news that he was willing to let it slide. "Thanks, man," he said in little more than a gruff whisper.

Donnie seemed to recognize this for the heartfelt praise that it was and looked pleased with himself. "Ah, it was no problem," he smiled, waving the comment away with a one-handed gesture and turned back to care for Sam. Dean was distracted for a moment by the sight of a long, ugly, jagged scar running across the base of Donnie's skull.

"What was that?" called the man earlier introduced as Lee, pointing up to the ceiling space. Something large and black fell from the high vaulted roof and shattered against the hard stone floor just inches from where Sam lay reclined on the pew. Donnie yelped and covered his eyes with one arm, while flailing around with the other.

"Let me see," Cheryl ordered. With a gentle tug she pulled Donnie's arm away from his face to reveal a small cut and a long streak of blood perilously close to one eye.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he sighed in embarrassment. "Just made me jump, is all."

"What did you see?" Dean asked Lee.

"I don't know. It was just out of the corner of my eye, something moved... it was too quick and dark to see," Lee apologized.

Ted came over to look at the shattered stone and peered up at the ceiling, "It looks like one of the roof tiles..."

"Christ almighty, does this sort of thing happen often then?" asked Aidan.

Ted winced at the Lord's name being taken in vain, and seemed to struggle to not appear too defensive. "Well, not usually, no, but the church was vandalized quite badly recently and I'm afraid since then it's just not been quite the same."

They all shivered as the temperature plummeted. A horrendous crash from the entrance echoed around the church and made them all jump as yet another shower of dust rained down.

"It's that latch again," muttered Ted as he rushed off to secure the front door.

~#~

_He had never felt so conflicted as when he'd fled. He had caught the scent in the fresh blood as soon as it had been exposed to the air and had panicked. There was no mistaking the stench of hellfire, although the taint itself was relatively minor. More worrying was the sense of a Fallen One so near and still so recent that it made his skin crawl just thinking about it._

_Then there was the shining one - buried deep and almost forgotten, but it was there. He wondered if the power and association with this place was still enough to call it to the surface. Maybe he should do something to encourage it..._

~#~

Dean watched Ted's back as the man rushed off to the door muttering under his breath, before shaking himself and turning back to Donnie.

"You're okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Donnie laughed, seeming at little embarrassed at all the attention, "It's just a scratch, believe me I've had a _lot_ worse."

Dean remember the scar he'd noticed earlier and watched with curiosity as Cheryl laid a comforting hand on Donnie's shoulder and gave him a small smile of support.

He wondered about the story between the two of them, from the body language he'd have said that Cheryl and Aidan were a couple, but, thinking about it, they had both seemed so very protective of Donnie.

"Don't worry, your brother seems to have the constitution of an ox, he's gonna be fine," said Donnie, breaking Dean's train of thought.

Dean smiled, "Yeah, Sam's a survivor."

"You seem very close. I wish it was like that between me and my siblings," Donnie said wistfully, as he sat back down beside Sam.

Ted returned with a pile of clothes and blankets. "You should change out of those wet things," he said as he put down the bundle of items at the end of the pew a few paces from where Dean sat. "It's not much," he stammered in apology, "but we don't get much in the way of donations these days."

Dean watched as the man rushed off to the kitchen area, his sincere words of thanks falling on deaf ears. "What's his problem?"

Donnie stared after the pastor for a moment as if considering, "I think you make him nervous," he grinned turning his attention back to Dean.

"But I'm one of the good guys!" Dean protested.

Donnie laughed.

~#~

_He watched him from the rafters. The light from the man warmed and comforted him even from a distance and despite being buried so deep. It had been such a long time since the age of miracles, he'd thought all of their kind had long departed this realm._

_He wanted to prostrate himself, but there was still too much he didn't understand. For now he would wait._

~#~

Dean shifted in the pew, realizing he'd lost himself for a moment. He sat staring at his hands, too tired to move. He looked up at the darkened stained-glass windows and high vaulted ceiling. His mind and soul ached as he struggled to make sense of his thoughts. _Please_.

He was distracted from his almost-communion with God, by a low whispering with a prayer-like cadence coming from behind him and to his left. Shaking his head to clear his mind he stood and turned to the source of the sound.

Donnie gave an apologetic smile. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you, but I think he's stirring." He lifted his hand from Sam's brow, his mouth broadening to a wide grin, "And his temperature's back down to normal too."

"Was he speaking?"

"No, that was me," Donnie admitted, blushing. "Even when we're unconscious it doesn't mean we can't hear what's going on around us at some level. Hopefully it's comforting for Sam to know he's okay and we're here for him."

Dean arched an eyebrow in surprise; the confession had the feeling of personal experience. Before Dean could ask, Donnie stood and stretched out with a loud yawn.

"I'm gonna get a coffee. You want one?"

Dean gave a distracted nod, barely aware of Donnie leaving as he stared down at his brother who looked so peaceful in sleep.

Dean heard a faint, but distinct, sound of creaking above and behind him in the rafters overhead. His blood ran cold at a small noise like the scraping of talons on flagstone.

He turned in place, his heart in his mouth and his blood hammering in his ears, but there was nothing there. He retrieved a small, pocket flashlight from his jacket and ran the dim light into each corner as he circled the room. Inevitably the flashlight batteries chose that moment to expire. _In the movies, this is when the monster attacks the hero_ , thought Dean.

Dean braced himself and waited.

And waited.

~#~

Sam woke, feeling overwhelmed with thirst. He mouth was so dry that when he tried to call for his brother all he could manage was a faint croak.

Dean was at his side in an instant, looking relieved, but also somewhat distracted.

"Sam, you're okay. You just need to rest, y'hear."

Sam nodded. "Thirsty," he somehow managed to gasp through his parched throat and cracked lips.

His vision was blurred and he sensed rather than saw Dean dash off, before he gave in and allowed his eyes to slam shut again.

His nose wrinkled at the rank smell of the hot breath wafting across his face.

He opened his eyes, ready to complain about his brother's poor oral hygiene. Whoever the dark figure was, he knew it wasn't Dean. The deep growling was a dead giveaway.

~#~

_The man laid out in front of him was so weak and vulnerable that it would be such an easy thing to rip his throat out. He was hungry too, he was_ **_always_** _hungry._

_Still, this was no mindless rabbit or blasphemous desecrator, this was a vessel and a fairly recently used one at that. He whined in frustration as the stench of hellfire burned his sensitive nose. Just one bite..._

_He watched as the man's eyes fluttered and opened, showing the purity of the light of the soul within. Convinced at last, he grabbed himself a consolation prize. Then he turned tail and ran off into the shadows, leaping up into the safe confines of the rafters._

~#~

There was a strange vibe in the tiny kitchen, where everyone seemed to have gathered for warmth. Dean didn't think it was only his rampaging paranoia that made him think people had just stopped talking about him as he'd walked in.

"Sam's awake," Dean explained, the relief clear in his voice.

"That's great news," smiled Cheryl.

There was a short, awkward silence during which Ted gave him a suspicious look, but then seemed to catch himself with a guilty start. "Is anyone hungry? There's enough food for sandwiches."

The prospect of food seemed to break the weird mood as people smiled and answered in agreement.

"I can always eat," Dean smirked, trying for a little charm offensive, "but I think Sam could do with some water right now."

The other woman, Karen, filled a glass of water from the tap and handed it to him with a tight-lipped smile, not making eye contact. Dean realized that he'd not heard her speak once.

He gave her an easy grin in return, not missing, but ignoring, the split-second scowl it earned him from Lee.

It was difficult to make out anything once he returned to the dark gloom of the church, after the blinding fluorescent lights of the kitchen, but he could see... _someone..._ bending over his brother.

There was a loud crash from behind him, and he couldn't fight the instinct that made him turn towards the sound, only to see an apologetic Karen picking up a pile of trays while Lee glared at her. When Dean turned back, the figure was gone.

"Dean, is that you?" called Sam in a quavering voice that highlighted his exhaustion.

"Hey, it's me, Sammy. How ya feelin'?" Dean asked, putting on an uncharacteristically cheerful voice.

He tried to give a discreet scan of the area for any sign of the figure, but all it did was make him feel dizzy. With black dots crowding out his vision, he somehow managed to disguise his light-headed staggering by sinking into the nearest pew.

Sensing another presence, he glanced back towards the rear of the church and caught eye-contact with Donnie, who was standing in the doorway. The young man held his gaze with an odd, intense look and gave a single nod before retreating back into the kitchen area.

~#~

Sam groaned. His brother had taken to talking to him in that voice he always used when Sam was injured. It was a sure sign that Dean was going to start treating him like he was eight years old again and made of glass.

A large man loomed over him, "Here, drink this," he said, thrusting a large, chipped mug of vegetable soup towards Sam.

"Thank you, er...?" said Sam with a weak, but grateful smile.

"Aidan. Don't thank me, Cheryl made it," Aidan sniffed, "Donnie reckons you need to build your strength up."

Sam didn't recognize the man, or any of the names he mentioned, but Dean was nearby and seemed to trust them, so that was good enough for him. He shivered as he considered that it was far from the first time he'd woken injured, in unfamiliar surroundings, and reliant on the kindness of strangers.

"You should have said you were cold. I'll get you another blanket," grumbled Aidan.

~#~

Dean watched in amusement as Ted led the procession from the kitchen with a tray full of food. The pastor seemed more relaxed than before as he busied himself with laying out the plates of sandwiches and assorted snacks on a bench at the rear of the church.

People helped themselves and sat to eat in the pews.

Donnie handed Dean a cup, "Here's that coffee I promised you. Sorry it took so long – that's thanks to the mother's meeting out the back. I totally vouched for you by the way, so you better not be killing us in our sleep. Anyway, hope you take it black 'cause we're out of milk."

Sam gave a soft chuckle at Dean's stunned expression, but then wrinkled his nose when Donnie offered him a sandwich. "Sorry, I don't think I can face it right now."

Donnie shrugged. "Well, I'll leave it right here in case you change your mind." He made a noise of disgust, reached down under the pew and pulled out the damp remains of a shredded pair of socks.

"Ew, gross. Are these yours?"

Dean choked on his coffee when he realized they were all that remained of the wet clothes he'd changed out of earlier.

Sam laughed, but then grimaced at the discomfort that caused, sending Donnie into a paroxysm of guilt-ridden apologizing.

Confused and not really sure why he felt embarrassed, Dean walked back to the table to get another sandwich only to discover all the food was gone.

Ted hovered by his side. "Oh, that's odd. I thought there were some sandwiches left over." He smiled as Dean's stomach growled in sympathy. "Don't worry, there's still plenty of salad left in the kitchen."

~#~

_His stomach full, he felt happy and content, if just a little guilty at his actions, as he watched them from the shadows until nearly all of them were asleep._

_It was time for an offering of his own..._

~#~

Dean woke, blinking bleary eyes and fighting the pull of sleep. He froze when he realized there was something resting across his body. Something large and heavy. He must have made a sound, because the next thing he saw was Ted coming over to him.

"What the? What is it?" Dean called out, pushing the metal object off of him. It clattered on the ground with a loud, metallic ringing.

"It's a sword," said a puzzled Sam, getting a closer look at it.

Ted stared at it, lost in his own thoughts for a moment, before he seemed to figure it out. "It's from the statue by the altar." He looked at Dean with an expression of open curiosity. "It's been missing since the church was vandalized."

Sam peered at the statue with a sudden, horrified understanding. "Michael's sword," he whispered.

"No! I said 'no', you winged douchebags," cried Dean in alarm as he jumped to his feet, now wide awake and thoroughly alarmed. And more scared than he liked to admit, even to himself.

Ted retreated, but not before hearing Sam try to reassure his brother. "It's okay, Michael and Lucifer are still in the Cage."

"You got out."

"Yeah, well after Cas killed most of them, I don't think there's an angel left that would come within a million miles of you."

~#~

_He was hurt by the obvious upset and wondered what he had done wrong._ _He wondered if he was being blamed for damaging it, instead of just returning it. Perhaps there was something else he could give instead, that might also prove his worthiness?_

_Pleased with himself, he crept off to retrieve what he had been proud to have hidden only a day or so ago._

_It was too cold outside, the frigid air and swirling snow deadening the trace of the scent for which he was searching._

_Sensing a stranger approach, he paused, frozen in place. He stood hidden in plain sight of the damaged one that staggered back into the building, lost in an agenda of its own madness._

_It took much snuffling around through the thick layers of ice, leaves and earth, but he managed to locate what he wanted._

_With a happy growl he dragged his find back to the church._

~#~

Unable to sleep following the excitement of Dean's discovery and tracking down a sudden draft to a door left ajar, Cheryl discovered the frozen body of man lying in the entrance.

"Donnie! Donnie!"

Donnie arrived in a flash, eyes wild in panic and chest heaving from the exertion of the full-out run. Seeing Cheryl was unharmed, he calmed in an instant, only then turning to look at the body with an expression of almost disinterest. "Er, he's _really_ dead. A bit beyond even my ability to help, I'm afraid."

"He's completely frozen, I reckon he's been dead for some time," added Sam after kneeling down beside the body to give it a closer inspection. He tried to suppress a hiss of discomfort as Dean helped him back to his feet.

"So how'd he get in here? It's not like the dead can walk," said Cheryl, with just a trace of hysteria in her voice.

Sam and Dean exchanged a significant look that didn't go unnoticed by some of the onlookers.

"Look at the bite marks on him," Cheryl added, her voice made small by the horror of what she could not seem to look away from.

"Maybe it was that _grizzly_ ," said Aidan with the tone of someone making an obscure point.

"Huh?" asked Sam looking at him with a blank expression.

"That attacked you?" Aidan added.

"Oh... yeah," said Sam, convincing no one. He pulled his brother to one side away from the more obvious listening ears. "So what do think?"

"Well it ain't no grizzly that's for sure," Dean murmured.

"Could it be the wendigo? Maybe it followed us here?"

"Nah, it _did_ actually look like an animal attack. Besides a wendigo likes to keep its food fresh, and it certainly wouldn't be givin' it away."

"So what do _you_ reckon it is then?"

Dean snorted. "Something else."

~#~

Watching for an opportune moment he'd crept unseen through one of the side entrances. Once outside it was only at the last minute that he noticed another wandering among the large headstones that protruded from the ground like broken teeth. He held back, but - thanks to the dark and snow - couldn't make out who it was, but whoever it was they hadn't seen him either. _Maybe just out for a cigarette break too?_

He liked the numbing effect of the cold; it was like his life, out on the periphery of things, darting in only for long enough to make some life-changing impact on someone without warning. _Ha, life defining, more like life-ending._

There was just something special about the contrast of his cold hands and the hot red spray of another's life blood as he pulled their still beating heart from their body. Crushing the heart in his hands. Actually, although he fantasized about it, the reality was that the rib cage was quite strong protection. So far it'd been sufficient just to run his hands through the body's ink. The blood sang to him, whispered in his ear, and he liked to daub the surrounding area with those deep secrets in an ancient script that only he knew.

He'd only indulged a couple of days ago, but already he could feel the influence of his dark compulsion, like the sibilant hiss of a snake in the dark of the night.

The reptile wanted blood, the warmth that was otherwise denied it. He could feel it moving around under his skin with impatience and irritation.

There was nothing for it; he was going to have to kill again. _Soon_.

~#~

Donnie hovered to one side, shifting from one foot to another. "Sam? I, er, think we should change those dressings."

Despite his own discomfort and the pain of his injuries, Sam gave the young man a broad smile to set him at his ease. "Sure thing, Donnie. I could do with stretching my legs too. You'll help me up?"

Donnie grinned in relief and supported Sam in hobbling to the bathroom, a faint look of awe lighting up his face.

Dean snorted in amusement; it would do his brother good to be at the receiving end of a bit of hero worship for a change. He turned to Cheryl. "So what's his story?"

"He's such a sweetie. I've known him for ages - then I... he was... in a car accident... about five years ago. He was in a coma for a _long_ time - all the doctors thought he was brain dead. Then one day he just... woke up."

Dean looked at her in a flash of sudden understanding.

"You?"

Cheryl's cheeks flamed, "I was in a... bad place. I nearly killed him and in return he turned my life around. Ever since then he's dedicated himself to helping others."

She shifted in embarrassment, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. "Why am I even telling you this?"

"I'm told I have a trustworthy face," Dean said with a wink and as he pulled a silly expression. Cheryl couldn't stop herself from laughing.

"Oh, you're good. I bet you have the ladies eating out of your hand, don't you?"

Dean just chuckled in response.

~#~

"How did you get hurt?" Donnie asked as he cleaned Sam's wounds.

"I was attacked..." whispered Sam.

"By your brother?" asked Donnie, in a tight, liquid voice.

"What? No! Why would you think that?"

Donnie held Sam's gaze. It was hard and unrelenting, and for just the briefest of moments it was a million miles away from the young man Sam had grown to like.

Donnie looked down at his feet, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth. After a long moment he looked up and Sam struggled not to flinch in the face of such raw pain and emotion.

"He has a look..." Donnie stuttered, his voice breaking.

Sam shook his head in denial.

"It's one I recognize," Donnie interrupted with a voice so soft Sam could only just hear him. "Most abusers were abused themselves... It's how they say some of us escape our own personal Hell." The tears flowed freely now.

Sam placed a hand on Donnie's arm. Donnie looked at the larger man in wonder; he could almost feel the strength of purpose being lent to him through the contact.

Sam held Donnie's chin and lifted it until they were sharing an intense gaze. "Maybe," he said, "But not everyone who's been abused has to become an abuser." He realized that he'd not felt an instinctive protectiveness like this about someone since Adam. _Is this how Dean feels about me?_

Sam flicked a quick glance towards the door in Dean's direction. "If there's one thing that my brother's taught me it's that we might not get the choices we want, but we do have free will. No pre-destiny for the Winchesters."

Donnie nodded. "And do you get the choices you want?" He pulled a face. "Sorry, that was out of line." He busied himself with Sam's re-bandaging.

Sam sucked in a breath. "No, it's okay. Dean and I were forced apart for a while and it's been difficult getting used to travelling together again. I think we've both changed too much and I honestly don't know if it's time I went my own way for good."

"Life rarely deals us a second hand, so when it does you can't waste it, you gotta make the most of what you got," Donnie smiled. "You're a good man, Sam. I have faith that you'll make the right decision."

There was a moment of comfortable silence.

"What happened to you Donnie, if you don't mind me asking?"

Donnie looked down, as if composing himself. "I woke up one day in a hospital bed and it was like my whole previous life had been wiped clean away. I was lucky; I had good friends who welcomed me back into the warmth of their home and their hearts with open arms."

Sam nodded, "We had an old friend – actually, he was more like a father to us - who always used to say 'Family don't end with blood'."

"Sounds like sensible advice." He patted the finished bandaging. "Let's get you back to yours."

~#~

Donnie helped Sam hobble back towards the waiting pew he'd claimed as his own.

"I'm pretty sure it's easing," said Cheryl in a hopeful voice as she tried to peer through the thick stained-glass windows.

"It was a stupid, dangerous time for us to go camping," muttered Aidan.

"Because of the weather?" asked Sam, his curiosity piqued by Aidan's comment.

The couple turned curious eyes to him, "Surely you must have heard?"

Dean frowned in confusion.

"The Maine Murderer? Y'know, the serial killer terrorizing this area for the last couple of months?"

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. Sam shrugged in the face of Dean's glower. "I'd heard there was long history of people going missing in the woods..."

"Sheesh, Sammy. How'd you miss that?"

Sam tensed, his hands balling up into fists. "You're more than welcome to do the research yourself." He turned on his heel and hobbled off to the kitchen, followed by Donnie.

Dean stood motionless and watched his brother go.

"Who are you, really?" asked Aidan. He'd been skeptical about them from the start.

"Huh?"

"Oh come on", said Cheryl, "Ade's got a BS meter that's always hitting the false positives, but if _I'm_ doubting you, well, y'know you've got problems."

"I'm no one special," Dean shrugged. He yelped as something flew through the air and hit him on one shoulder, bouncing off to land on the ground with a loud, hollow clattering sound.

They all spun round, but could see no sign of anyone in the gloom of the church.

"What is it?" asked Cheryl, her heart hammering in her chest.

"It's just an empty plastic bottle," said Aidan, picking up the offending item. He looked at the strange expression on Dean's face and wondered why he thought the man seemed to think it significant.

Dean whitened, making the dark lines under his eyes stand out in stark relief, as a haunted expression crossed his face. "It's a vessel," he whispered.

He pulled a flashlight from his pocket only to curse when he realized it still didn't work. Rubbing at the back of his neck in agitation, he started a slow circuit of the dark corners of room.

He heard the others walk off towards the kitchen, no doubt to have a bitching session about him with Sam. When he got level to one of the darkest corners of the room he heard the sound of breathing and sensed something moving in the darkness.

Dean's heart hammered in his chest at the sight of the huge black dog, with long, white glistening teeth, emerging from the shadows.

"Sammy?" he called, wincing at the thread of fear in his voice.

The dog padded forward and that was when Dean noticed the huge, black, bat-like wings on the animal's back.

"Ah, not a dog then," he quipped; it was odd, but it being a supernatural creature made him feel somehow better.

The creature's mouth widened in the doggy equivalent of a broad grin. Its large pink tongue lolled, as it drooled on the floor. Dean really needed to sit down. The creature gave a happy huff-like bark, its rear end waggling almost as fast as its tail.

"Good boy?" Dean asked in a weak voice.

The creature immediately sat down on its haunches and gave him a sorrowful look that would rival even Sam for puppy-dog cuteness.

Cheryl, Aidan and Donnie chose that moment to walk in from the kitchen and the animal jumped forward with a low growl and placed itself between Dean and others.

"It's okay!" Dean shouted, not sure that it was. The creature turned, gave him an odd expression, then flew off into the rafters.

Donnie gaped at him. "Yeah, that's a dead giveaway that you're probably not who you say you are."

(;,;)


	2. Chapter 2

"Did _you_ see that too?" Dean gasped. Sam pulled a face at him as if to say he was laying it on a bit thick, but Dean just turned to the others in the room; he felt fully entitled to feel as freaked out as he did.

Cheryl nodded and took a couple of steps nearer. "What was it? Some sort of gargoyle?" she asked with an equal mix of trepidation and excitement in her voice. Dean couldn't help but be impressed.

"Was it a hellhound?"

Dean winced. He assumed his brother had intended to be discreet, but the weight of emotion behind the question seemed to make it echo throughout the room.

He shook his head, quite proud of himself for suppressing a shudder. Hellhounds were invisible to all but those waiting for their soul to be claimed in the last hours of a demonic deal. He supposed he was in the "privileged" position of being the only person ever to have seen one and still be alive.

Even five years later, there was no way he'd ever forget the sight of the monstrosities that had ripped him apart and fed on his entrails.

"Well, it seemed to like you," said Cheryl.

"It _didn't_ seem to like Sam," added Aidan, with a scowl in Sam's direction.

Donnie scrunched up his face in thought. "Nah, actually, Sam followed us out. I think it was _us_ it reacted to," he said, giving Aidan an apologetic shrug.

"Well, whatever, it's still out there somewhere," Aidan grumbled.

They all peered up into the darkness of the rafters.

~#~

The five of them were still staring up at the ceiling when the others came out from the kitchen to join them.

"Is everything all right?" asked Ted, puzzled by their strange behavior.

"We saw some sort of creature," Cheryl answered in a tone that was almost apologetic, although her expression darkened when she saw Lee's subsequent eye roll.

"It was a _monster_ ," added Donnie, "but it seemed to like Dean though."

Dean gave a modest shrug. He grinned at Karen as she handed him a mug of coffee with a shy smile, her eyes darting away from giving him eye contact. "Thank you," he said, "Karen, isn't it?"

Lee cleared his throat, "So, assuming this beast's real, it's somehow got into the church?" He didn't sound convinced.

Aidan sighed, casting another of his plentiful glares in Dean's direction. "I saw it with my own two eyes, man. Whatever it was, it wasn't... natural."

Dean sipped his coffee and gave another casual shrug.

"I'm sorry," said Ted, his voice shaking with anger, "but I've given you the benefit of the doubt for long enough. I'm not stupid. I saw the tattoo you both have when you changed and I heard you talking earlier. I _know_ you know more than you're saying."

"Hey, we're not the bad guys here, _padre_ ," Dean chuckled.

"I know. I put holy water in the coffee," said Ted, pulling a false smile in return.

Aidan choked. "Isn't that like blasphemy or something?" he complained. He peered into his coffee with a combination of distrust and distaste, before putting it down untouched.

Dean nodded at Ted in approval, amused despite himself. "I noticed earlier that you'd started wearing your cross on the outside."

"You're hunters, aren't you?"

Sam and Dean froze.

Collecting himself, Dean gave a rictus smile. "Maybe that's why that _grizzly_ went for us."

Ted's face was a struggle of conflicting emotions, but in the end he decided that perhaps discretion was the better part of valor. Hunters were not known for their sociability in his limited experience, and perhaps the brothers would respond better to a more private questioning later.

Lee made a sound of irritation. "So, whatever this animal is, are we sure it's not going to be dragging anything else in?" He unconsciously wiped his hands on his trousers. "I don't want to have to be carrying any more dead bodies, thank you very much."

"I'm sure no one else would want to inconvenience you by being killed," muttered Cheryl. She blushed as Aidan gave her an arched look that said: _He's_ **_your_** _friend's boyfriend_.

"Well, it was hardly fitting that we just leave him lying there," interjected Ted.

"Yet somehow, putting him in a shed doesn't seem any more respectful. Anyway, it strikes me that the police are not going to thank us for disrupting the crime scene."

"Can it still be a crime scene if it's an animal attack, as you say?" teased Donnie.

" _I_ never said it was an animal attack," Lee replied, with a cool look in Cheryl and Aidan's direction. He paused for a moment as if in the midst of a sudden thought. He aimed a stricken look in Ted's direction. "So, if it isn't, then we've just contaminated the evidence..."

Lee and Ted turned as one to stare at Aidan. "You're just chock-full of the great ideas aren't you, Aidan? First to go camping, then that we move the body while you 'comfort' your girlfriend," Lee sneered.

Lee watched as Aidan stormed out. He worried at his lower lip with his teeth until the man was gone, then he turned to Karen. "I always had a bad feeling about him."

~#~

He hated losing control, it was so... _demeaning_. He prided himself on his strong, cold exterior, but inside his stomach was churning with anguish.

 _He_ was the monster here, not some... _thing_.

He felt a red-hot pulse of rage as he realized it must have been the creature that had ruined everything.

The ever-present serpent twisted and turned within his flesh, making his skin feel stretched tight and paper-thin across his bones. He scratched and scratched without relief until he bled, but the ophidian only coiled deeper inside his body; the blood it craved was not his own.

 _Soon_ , he promised.

~#~

 _They all have secrets_ , Karen decided, and while she might not exactly know what they were, it was like she could sense them burning beneath their skin, itching to get out.

The brothers were by far the strangest and she wasn't quite sure if she trusted them. It was all the silent glances, aborted gestures, and things left unsaid between the innocuous conversations that seemed to speak volumes.

She reckoned they knew far more about what was going on than they were admitting. It suddenly dawned on her that so did the priest. He'd made a couple of strange comments; if Aidan hadn't stormed off and distracted them, they'd probably still be arguing over it now. _Was that deliberate?_ Cheryl was a friend from college and on the surface appeared trustworthy, but Karen had always been wary around that dour boyfriend of hers.

She'd seen him watching her, _judging her_. She'd imagined he'd found her wanting.

But Cheryl, she was a bossy one. Karen didn't understand how Aidan put up with it.

Not like Lee, he knew he was onto a good thing. He understood that she didn't care what he did, so long as he always came back to her.

~#~

Sam sighed in relief that the others had distracted themselves from a discussion of the Winchesters' involvement, without any real effort from him or Dean.

"So what are we going to do about the creature?"

"Huh?" Dean seemed distracted. "Do?"

"Well, yeah. It killed that man."

Dean seemed to shake himself from his thoughts. He frowned. "I dunno, Sam. It seemed pretty friendly to me."

"Oh, then it's just a coincidence that it turns up just after we find a dead body with animal bites?"

Dean sighed. "You're probably right. I just get a weird feeling about this..."

"Oh, man. Why can't you just accept that you're wrong?"

Dean looked at him in shock and surprise at the rage in Sam's tone of voice. "What?"

"First Benny, and now this... _thing_? What happened to you? D'you go native or something?"

Dean saw red. "Yeah, well, maybe I did, but what do you care?" He sucked in a shaky breath and tried to lower his voice when he noticed Ted taking a keen interest in their conversation. "You left me to rot in Purgatory while you went off and played house with the first piece of skirt who showed you any interest."

"I don't even know who you are any more," Sam replied, his voice sounding harsh even to his own ears. He shook his head and walked out before he said something he'd really regret.

~#~

_From his position up in the rafters, and with his head resting on his paws, he gazed down in adoration at the man. He'd been so lonely; could this really be his new master? He seemed so brave and strong, but also kind. It was comforting to think that he might at last have someone to rely on; for a long, long time there had been all kinds of signs and portents and then... nothing._

_He struggled to hold back a whine of distress at seeing the man at such odds with his... brother? – the one who smelled like home and family, but so buried under the heavy stench of hellfire it almost wasn't there. It made his nose sting, and he sneezed, just thinking about it. That wasn't right was it, surely? But then Master had a faint scent of it too..._

_Now they were unhappy because of something he'd done, weren't they? His stomach churned at the harsh tone of the voices that carried through the cold night air and the unfairness of it all. He'd tried to be good! Why did they keep leaving things lying around if they didn't want him to eat them? And he'd only been protecting the church, as was his duty - he'd given the trespasser several warnings - it wasn't_ _**his** _ _fault what had happened next..._

_He continued to watch them from above, with only the faintest growl of frustration._

~#~

Cheryl watched Dean standing still, looking lost and maybe just a little vulnerable, as he stared off after his brother. She felt a little like that herself, but knew better than to go after Aidan. In the end, despite her better judgment, she couldn't help but try to offer Dean some comfort. "Sometimes you just gotta let them go off and have their space," she said with a sad little smile.

"Maybe that's my problem, I'm always pulling him back," Dean said, as he leaned back in the pew, rubbing with one hand at the bridge of his nose.

"Ah. Well, I've never had the best track record at holding on to the people I love."

Dean snorted. "I'd settle for not getting them killed."

Cheryl's attention spiked at the wistful tone of his voice, realizing the literal truth behind his words.

Before he knew what he was doing, Dean was telling Cheryl all about dragging Sam back into his life. How he'd done it once, maybe even leading... _an enemy_... to Stanford and ruining Sam's chances at law school. And now he was doing it again. "If I love him so much, then how come all I ever seem to do is mess up his life?"

He looked up in horror. _What was with the chick-flick moment?_ "Sorry, you don't need to hear about my problems," he muttered, flushing bright red with embarrassment.

"Don't sweat it. Everyone needs to offload now-and-then, and sometimes it's easier to do it with someone we don't really know."

"Yeah, but talk about oversharing... I knew I shouldn't have watched _The Notebook_ with Sam the other night."

~#~

Karen watched. It was her M.O. That's what they called it in all those police procedural series she liked so much. So, that's what she did.

For a while she'd listened in to Cheryl and Dean whine on about how their lives were oh, so terrible. _What a joke, no one ever appreciates what they have_. She'd have given them a piece of her mind, but she was sick of talking about her past. It never did her any good and she didn't need anyone else's false sympathy.

She'd always had someone telling her what to do, when to do it, and why she wasn't doing it properly. So yes, her life sucked. But she had it under control. If you kept your head down, and did what you were told, you were usually okay.

Life _was_ okay. Well, it was better than it had been. She'd got out and there had been several times when she'd doubted that she'd survive her childhood. She still wasn't convinced that her old life wouldn't just pull her back, like it had done numerous times in the past.

It was interesting listening to Dean talk about his father; as much for the things he didn't say, than for the details he disclosed. She found she could relate to him. Her Daddy had also been a big man in their small town. A well-loved man. People had been so kind and supportive of him; commiserating that despite his strength he'd produced such a weak and damaged daughter. It had always been a source of twisted comfort that people cared so little about her that they'd never bothered to express their disappointment to her face.

Daddy still loved her though. Unlike Dean, she had no doubt about that. Everyone said it, so it must be true.

Lee had hated him though, almost as much as Daddy had hated Lee in return. It was one of the reasons she thought she should love Lee so much.

Lee took care of her. He'd taken her away from Daddy. He'd saved her after she'd tried to take things into her own hands. She owed him. Sometimes she hated him too.

He didn't know she knew about the other women. She might be quiet and too shy to speak her mind, but she wasn't stupid. She knew he was only using them. He always came back to her.

She liked the way Dean had looked at her earlier. Men usually didn't bother, but she sensed he was someone who was more attuned to what was really going on.

That, and she liked the way it made Lee mad.

~#~

Cheryl gave Dean a gentle smile. She suspected it wasn't very often that he opened up to people like this. She wondered if it was down to the surreal and claustrophobic atmosphere of the church that, seemed to be getting to all of them. _Speaking of which..._ She got to her feet, dusting down her knees. "Well, I need some air," she grimaced, while pulling a pack of cigarettes from her bag.

"I know, these things will kill me," she muttered to herself as she pulled open the door, shivering at the blast of cold air.

She shrieked in surprise at the crouching figure that leaped forward, scraping past her as she somehow managed to duck away in time. The figure scrabbled on the floor, trying to find its footing as it stalked towards her. The strong, cold wind slammed the heavy door shut behind her and she backed up against it, looking on in horror at the huge, but shriveled, creature in front of her. It might be human-shaped, but there was no way this could ever have been mistaken for an actual person.

The creature leered and started to edge towards her in a cautious half-crouch, as if it was worried she had a weapon to hand. Cigarettes and lighter already lost, she slid her hands into her pockets, but all she could find was a crushed packet of gum, not even a set of keys like she'd been taught in self-defense class. The creature seemed to sense her dismay and started to move towards her a little faster.

Dean popped up from behind a nearby pew, brandishing the gun he'd taken a dive to retrieve. Without any further warning he opened fire at the creature. The thing jolted and shuddered at each hit, but did not seem to be bothered by its injuries. It didn't even lose its footing on the smooth stone flooring.

Cheryl didn't waste any time and ran the opposite way round the church, putting the pews between her and the creature.

The resounding sound of shots had brought the others running from the warmth of the kitchen and they froze, looking on in shock. The creature leaned forward and roared at the interruption, baring a mouth full of cruel, sharp teeth in a terrible grimace.

Cheryl moved back, her eyes widening in fear and confusion. She was torn between running the length of the church to Aidan or trying to escape through the main entrance and facing whatever else might await her outside. Not able to take her terrified gaze off of the creature, out of the corner of her eye she could just make out Dean as he edged towards it, reloading his gun. Without even seeming to need to look, the creature threw out one of its impossibly long arms and sent Dean sprawling onto his back, his gun flying from his grasp.

"Dean!" shouted Sam. He started forward towards the creature, brandishing a large hunting knife that seemed to have appeared from out of nowhere. Aidan moved to stop Sam from getting too near the beast, only to release his hold on Sam's arm when the creature turned an obvious, hungry look back on Cheryl.

A loud, terrifying howl ran through the church, making the windows vibrate.

Cheryl shrank back in further horror as the winged dog-creature from earlier swooped down towards her from its hiding place in the rafters. It landed just beyond her, positioning itself between where Dean still lay stunned on the ground and the other creature.

The dog-thing started a fierce growling that she could feel right down to her bones. The figure snarled back in response, seeming just as fierce in its own way, as it swiped with its long, wickedly sharp-looking claws.

The dog barked with a sound that reverberated with a chime like some terrible bell. Even in the midst of her fear Cheryl noticed how this drove back the figure... and some of the others in their group, although Sam was the only one she could see clearly, as both he and his brother clutched at their ears as if in pain.

The dog whined and turned towards Dean as if conscious of causing him distress, and the figure made no delay in swiping at its flank with its claws. The dog gave a series of high-pitched yelps, before leaping at the figure with its jaws wide open, its muzzle pulled back to reveal sharp, white teeth that gleamed in the dim light.

Cheryl turned her face away and covered her ears at the awful screams and sounds of rending flesh.

After a few, brief moments, which felt like forever, there was nothing but blessed silence.

~#~

Dean somehow managed to stand, still clutching his head from the pain inflicted from the dog-like creature's eerie bark.

He watched as it dragged the body of the wendigo towards him and dropped it in a loose-limbed pile at his feet. It sat back on its hind legs, its tail wagging with wild delight.

" _Good_ _boy_!" Dean said in bemused surprise.

The creature's tail wagged faster and it gazed up at him with an adoring, expectant expression.

A little nervous, Dean leaned further towards the creature. "What's your name, boy?"

" _Tiangou_ "

Dean rocked back on his heels in astonishment. He hadn't been expecting the dog to _talk_ to him. "Jingo?"

" _Tiangou_ "

"Dengue?" _That'd be appropriate, 'cause_ _I definitely feel feverish_.

" _Tiangou_ "

"Django?"

" _Yeah, that'll do_ ," the creature snorted.

Dean turned to grin at his brother, only for it to fade into confusion under the force of the strange look that Sam was giving him.

"What are you doing?" asked Sam, as if talking to a child.

"He says his name's _Django_."

"And you get that from all the growling?"

It was Dean's turned to look confused. "No, he just told me."

Sam just raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Of course he did, Dean." He shook his head at the stupidity of older brothers. "So any idea what it is?"

Dean started to shrug, but the dog nudged him to get his attention. " _Faithful guardian..._ "

Both brothers turned to Ted who was now within earshot and had visibly reacted to the animal's utterance.

"You can understand him?" asked Sam in surprise, his gaze switching between his brother and the priest. The unspoken "too" seemed to hang in the air between them.

Ted nodded, as if distracted. "I feel like I must surely wake up soon," he muttered under his breath. He looked up at Sam as the words penetrated his brain. "Wait... you _can't_?"

"No," answered Sam, "it just sounds like a dog growling to me."

The others nodded in dumb agreement. "Me too," added Cheryl, moving closer now it seemed like the animal was not a threat.

Sam looked at Django with sudden realization. "He's a church grim!" He was somewhat taken aback to see the animal roll its eyes at him with a "duh" expression.

Dean looked at the dog-like creature that was now batting its head at his hand in an attempt at getting the petting to continue. "You sure? He looks quite chipper to me."

Cheryl took a few more cautious steps towards the beast. "What, you mean like a protector?" She held out a tentative hand and tried not to flinch as Django sniffed at it. She giggled as he licked her palm and accepted a scratch behind the ears.

"Yeah," said Sam in amazement, "it's said that the spirit of the first thing buried in a churchyard has to protect the grounds from evil forever, so rather than a human, instead they'd bury a dog."

" _Alive_ ," growled Django.

"That sucks, dude," Dean commiserated , before relaying to the others what the creature had said.

Sam approached, only for Django to stiffen and start a low growl that, while almost inaudible, was still threatening. Thinking back to what the creature had done to the wendigo, Sam thought it best to withdraw, but not before giving the creature his best stink-eye look.

Dean chuckled. "I don't think he likes you, Sammy."

"Yeah, he tell you that, did he? You're a regular Dr. Dolittle, Dean," Sam grumbled, not sure why he felt so hurt. _Stupid dog_ , he thought as he stalked off back to the kitchen, but still determined to keep his eye on the animal; he wasn't quite as willing to trust it as Dean seemed to be.

"Hey, what's your problem with Sam?" Dean asked Django, running his hand down the animal's back.

" _Smells bad_."

"That's younger brothers for you."

" _Hellfire_."

"Ah." Dean felt physically sick.

Django gave an anxious whimper and tried to comfort Dean by licking at the man's mouth, only for Dean to gently push him away with a faint declaration of disgust.

" _Not just him_ ," added the church grim with a mournful whine.

~#~

"So, _hunters_ then," said Ted, still keeping what he judged a safe distance away. He couldn't help but feel a slight sense of satisfaction at being right, despite the events that had unfolded.

"Nothing gets past you, does it?" grinned Dean, with a dead wendigo at his feet while he gave tummy rubs to some sort of spirit-dog protector.

"So, I'm guessing that thing's the grizzly," added Aidan, pointing at the wendigo, having just come up for air after being reunited with Cheryl.

"Yeah," sighed Dean, "It's called a wendigo."

"Whoa! What, like in the Hulk comics?" asked Donnie.

"This ain't no superhero, kid."

"No, a man transformed into a terrible, always-hungry creature as a curse for eating human flesh?" said Donnie. He'd always said those early Marvel comics were a good investment that would pay off one day.

"Er, yeah. I must've missed that edition," Dean snorted in amusement.

"So what, you hunt these things for fun?" Cheryl interrupted in an incredulous voice.

"Well, I wouldn't say _fun_ exactly," Dean answered, pulling a face. "It's more like hunting evil sons-of-bitches is a family calling." He shrugged an apologetic look in the priest's direction.

" _There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy_ ," said Donnie in a quiet voice. He turned to Sam, who had rejoined them, and cracked a sudden beaming smile that broke the serious mood. "You're like... heroes."

Dean looked a little flustered and the tips of his ears went red, but Sam just seemed troubled as he stared down at the remains of the wendigo.

"I thought so. This isn't the one that attacked me."

"Are you sure? How can you even tell?"

"I managed to chop off part of its hand while it was clawing at me. It's the only reason I managed to get away from the thing."

As a group they looked down at the wendigo and its ten, long, sharp claws.

"There's another one out there."

~#~

Dean had always felt more than a little wary around dogs at the best of times; he'd never had the greatest experiences with them in the past, the hellhound incident notwithstanding. He knew it was mean and childish, but he couldn't help but be amused that Django followed him around like a puppy. Okay, a giant, pitch-black puppy with bat wings and blood-red eyes.

It just seemed so ironic that Sam, the self-professed dog-person, brought out such an odd, sour expression on the face of the church grim when they drew near to one another. _Hell, with that hair and the gangling limbs he even looks a little like one of those Afghans_. When pressed a second time, the grim had revealed that the lingering scent of hellfire burned his nose.

Dean looked down at the huge, dog-like creature lying at his feet, with a guilty expression. It seemed like the Winchester penchant for being sent to Hell left a scent marker too, just that Dean's hadn't been so recent, nor for so long as Sam's.

As if sensing the scrutiny, Django looked back up at him with an adoring expression, before returning to his previous task of licking his wounds clean.

Sam screwed up his face in distaste at the sight and the noise. "It figures that your mystical dog would be as big a perv as you are. Can't you get it to stop... licking itself."

" _Saliva aids healing_ ," Django rumbled, not stopping in his ministrations.

Dean rolled his eyes, but he guessed that his brother did have a point; it was pretty gross. "Somehow, I don't think you were injured _down there_ , can't you take it outside for the sake of our sanity?"

Django gave a huff of long-sufferance and stalked off in disgust. Dean turned to Sam. "Well, look at that. Now he's acting like you."

(;,;)


	3. Chapter 3

A short time later, Django trotted back into the room and announced his presence by shaking off a thick layering of snow in all directions.

" _All safe_ ," he chuffed with satisfaction, oblivious to several sudden cries of cold, wet discontent. Ted just breathed a sigh of relief; one wendigo had been bad enough and the thought that there might be another one out there was disturbing, to say the least.

Dean grinned at the church grim, as he realized how fond he was becoming of Django. "Good boy!"

Django's tailed thumped from side to side in pleasure at the compliment, before he threw himself down at the hunter's feet.

" _My purpose_ ," he panted in contentment.

"It is fulfilling to know that one's of use," added Ted, with an introspective hint to his voice.

" _If confusing_ ," agreed Django, casting a resentful look over at Sam, who was too busy talking with Donnie to notice the church grim's unfavorable attention.

Django sat up and placed one massive, heavy paw on Dean's lap. " _Why not serve yours?_ "

Dean choked, the old, familiar jolt of fear exploding in his chest. There were so many reasons, where could he start? "Michael's in the Pit," he managed to say at last, his voice coming out in a croak.

Django's ears went back and his fur stood on end. He made a terrible whining sound and shoved his head into Dean's side, only to raise it to lick at Dean's face in sympathy.

Ted frowned in confusion at the dog's reaction until a belated comprehension of the words' meaning dawned on his face in a wide-eyed look of sheer horror.

" _How can you bear it? To not serve Heaven's intent?_ "

Dean looked from Django to Ted, who stared back at him in shock with his mouth covered by his hands.

Dean shook his head. _There's no way they'll ever understand_. "God isn't even still here. He's not been around for a while."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Well, if all the angels in Heaven couldn't find him..."

"Maybe He didn't want to be found," Ted answered without thinking, letting his irritation get the better of him.

"Yeah, and what's one more deadbeat dad, huh?" said Dean, his voice rising in anger.

Ted and Django both winced in unison. Dean turned away from them, only to catch eye-contact with Donnie, who was sitting on the other side of the room. The expression on the normally cheerful young man's face was somber, obviously having heard Dean's outburst. Dean shook his head; he didn't need anyone else laying their disappointment on him, not when life had always made certain to give him more than his fair share.

"What's the point of a puzzle if someone tells us the answer? We have to trust in God's plan - even if we can't comprehend it – that, despite our free will, He uses us to further that higher purpose," said Ted.

_It sounds more like you're trying to convince yourself_ , thought Dean, but he bit back the comment.

Something sparked in Dean's mind and he had a brief moment of revelation as he considered that Heaven had been purged of corruption and pride, Hell had been reordered into tedium rather than torture, and even Purgatory had been cleared of the worst of its monsters.

Dean shook his head and the thought was gone. Sensing the moment had passed, Ted laid a hand in a comforting gesture on Dean's shoulder before making his excuses and leaving the younger man in peace.

Django cuddled up to Dean, and laid his head on the man's lap. For a long time they sat in silence, in absentminded contentment, as Dean scratched behind Django's ears.

A sleepy Django nuzzled into Dean's side and looked up, his eyes shining. " _Do not fear. I sense activity in Heaven once more. They like to put things to new purpose. I'm sure they will find one for you again, soon._ "

Dean shuddered as a cold chill made its way down his spine.

~#~

It seemed to Dean that he had just dropped off to sleep, before Sam was all back up in his face about Django.

"Seriously? I finally get some decent shut-eye for a change," Dean groused, as he wiped muck from his eyes. _Great, it seems like_ **_this_** _is the only sleep I'll ever get..._ "Couldn't this have waited?"

Sam's near-cosmic vibration of annoyance seemed to indicate that, _No, it could not._ "Who knows how many others it might have killed while we slept?"

Dean did wonder when and where the church grim had wandered off, but he wasn't in the mood to share that thought with his brother. "Well, obviously not me, but God knows I deserve to have someone put me out of my sleep-deprived misery. You wouldn't let someone treat an animal this badly, you hypocrite."

"It's only a matter of time before it hurts someone else, Dean."

"But he saved us from the wendigo."

"Tell that to the guy we found in the porch."

Dean winced, but didn't respond.

"Come on, Dean. How many times have we had this conversation, only usually with our positions reversed? You should be pleased; you were right, you're _always_ right. Once a monster, always a monster."

Dean sighed, almost a gasp of pain, as if his heart had been run through with a blade. He'd been foolish enough to think that he'd escaped the consequences of the rack, but Sam was correct, a small part of him would always be both eager and willing to hold the knife under Alistair's instruction in Hell. Purgatory had proved how easily he'd slipped back into the old ways of kill first or be killed. Dean hung his head in shame and turned away from his brother.

"Let me speak to him, okay?"

Sam nodded and walked off, too lost in his own pain to see that of his brother's.

~#~

Dean leaned into Django's warm fur, running his hands over the animal that had its head resting on his lap once more. They sat for a long time before Dean spoke.

"You know it was wrong to kill that man, don't you?"

Django looked up with puzzlement and a hint of disappointment. " _Didn't kill. Just chased. Then found dead_."

"So... those animal bites weren't you," said Dean, trying to keep the sound of hope out of his voice.

" _Ah._ " Django's ears went back and Dean's stomach dropped. " _Was hungry,_ " Django whined.

"How could you?"

" _Sorry... but he was chopped up and left out. Still much left... you want?_ "

"Eww, no I don't want to eat him. Hey, what did you mean by 'chopped up and left out'?"

" _Like sandwiches. I prefer those. There more sandwiches?_ "

~#~

"So you're saying that the man was killed by this wendigo," summarized Ted, after listening in to Dean's explanation to Sam. "Isn't that unusual?"

Ted laughed at Sam's questioning look.

"I _have_ been around, you know," said Ted with a tight smile. "Especially in some of the smaller, poorer parishes... you hear things. And you soon learn that flashlights in a cemetery after dark don't always mean amorous teenagers."

Donnie snorted, then held up his hands in apology.

"Hunters have been reporting incidents like this for a decade or so, now," explained Sam, enjoying the rare opportunity to go into lecture mode for an audience. "The world's getting smaller and the natural habitats of many of these things are being destroyed. These aren't normal creatures that are just gonna go extinct, so with nothing else to hunt, increasingly they're forced into contact with humans."

"It's adapt or die," added Dean in a choked voice, but one so soft that he could barely be heard. Django nodded to himself in agreement.

Sam looked stricken for a moment, before continuing his lecture. "Even a couple of years ago there's no way you'd get two wendigo in the same region, let alone sharing hunting. But yeah, actually coming into a building? That's a new one on me. I guess primarily they're attracted by the warmth."

"Dude, are you like the David Attenborough of the cryptozoology world, or something?" Donnie laughed. "You should totally write for _Fortean Times_."

Aidan rolled his eyes and interrupted. "Can't you just send your dog-thing out to get the other one?"

Dean turned to Django with a cocked eyebrow.

Django whined and rested his head on his front paws with a disappointed sigh. " _I'm_ _ **church**_ _grim. I cannot leave grounds_."

"But what if the church didn't exist anymore?" asked Ted, sitting up with a sudden crazed look.

Django looked up at him with wide eyes and a cocked head, as if he'd never heard of anything quite so ridiculous. He considered for a moment. " _Then I would die_ ," he added simply.

Ted looked devastated.

Dean frowned and made to speak, but Ted cut him off with a discreet shake of his head, making it clear he had something to say later for Dean's ears only.

"So, have you always been here?" Dean asked, to change the subject.

" _Yes, but asleep_ ," Django answered in a slow voice as if unsure himself, while Dean continued to repeat the grim's responses for the benefit of the others.

"What woke you?"

" _There was... violent death on grounds_." The grim considered for a moment. " _Was day snow started._ "

"Oh, that's when we got here..." Donnie added, looking up in surprise and, although he hadn't intended it, catching Aidan's eye.

Aidan flushed, his face matching the red of his hair, and he fidgeted in his seat as he rubbed at the back of his neck. Cheryl laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle tug towards her.

"It's okay," she said, trying to reassure him in response to his tight smile. "It's not your fault. You had no idea that all this was going to happen, and we're all adults, we all decided to come too."

"I'm sure no one's trying to apportion blame," Ted smiled. Dean quirked an approving eyebrow at Sam at the underlying, commanding tone in the priest's voice. _Hey, padre's got a pair_.

Lee sighed in exasperation. "Whatever," he said as he sat back down next to Karen, taking a break from pacing around the room. "We need to focus on the _thing_ that's still out there."

"Is there no way to reason with it?" Ted asked in a bland voice.

Dean didn't even dignify that with an answer, although he may have made a sound of disgust.

Ted shrugged, unembarrassed. "I know, but someone has to at least ask."

"It's pure predator, yes? It's hungry and cold, so it's only a matter of time until it finds us. There's nothing else for miles around; that's why we all came here. We can't get away, so we either kill it or it'll kill us," said Karen in a quiet voice. Everyone stared at her in surprise, for many of them it was the most they'd ever heard her speak in one breath.

~#~

Karen's words reverberated around his head like the discordant, clanging peal of a bell. It had felt like she had addressed the words directly to him and the truth of them terrified him. He wondered if she had seen through his false facade down to the real him. Such a speech must surely be a cryptic warning and the snakes moving within his flesh responded by lashing back and forth in increasing agitation.

It all made sense now; he'd taken her silence as a sign of stupidity, but now he recognized it for the cunning disguise it was. He was the stupid one for not spotting it sooner; the way she always seemed to be hovering in the furthest doorway as if just passing, ready to make an escape, hidden in plain sight. Always watching, always listening. _What secrets would she tell?_

He scratched and worried at his inner arms, hoping to relieve or release the ever-present vipers twisting and turning now just beneath his skin. Unfortunately, it seemed that the snakes were not so easily distracted, and instead his efforts merely reopened the wounds from before, his blood oozing down his arms.

As his life force dripped onto the flagstones beneath his feet, the sight of the red liquid seemed to calm the dark beast within him. But he knew that this was only a temporary relief; such a threat could not go unpunished. Karen would have to die and she had only herself to blame.

~#~

Like the others, Donnie was feeling a little stir crazy and there was just something about the threats of maiming or death that seemed to make sleep somewhat more elusive than usual. Before he knew it, his feet had brought him back to the kitchen. While he didn't really want a coffee, it was something to do to occupy the time. He pulled a face as he wondered if it was possible for his body to cope with any more caffeine without heart palpitations.

He jumped back in surprise at the sight of the church grim. The creature pulled its head from the depths of the kitchen trashcan, its eyes glowing a dull red as it started a low, menacing growl. _My what big teeth you have_ , Donnie thought, with more than a touch of hysteria.

"Nice doggie!" said Donnie, trying not to let the thread of fear sound too loud in his voice. "See, I'm not scared. That's what you do with dogs isn't it? Don't show fear? Or is that cats?"

Django sneezed and a sour expression came over his face.

"Ah! Er, not that I'm calling you a cat or anything."

The church grim sneezed again.

" _Gesundheit!_ Or, well, _bless you_ , then since I guess we're in a church... _Oh, I get it!_ It's the _see ay tee_ word, isn't it? Sorry, bro, it won't happen again."

Django cocked his head to one side with an expression of intense curiosity and after a moment seemed to relax.

"Cool," Donnie sighed with relief. "See, who's a good boy, then?" he added, reaching out to pat Django on the head. A short, sudden growl made him withdraw his hand and jump back with a little high-pitched shriek.

Django sat back on his haunches and panted, his tongue half-hanging out of his open mouth. Donnie narrowed his eyes at this doggie equivalent of a grin. "You did that on purpose!"

The creature gave an amused, affirmative huff.

"So, we good then?"

Django swiped a large, rough tongue up the side of the young man's face.

"Ew, gross!" cried Donnie in disgust, but he gave the dog-like beast a small, shy smile before he walked off with a spring in his step.

The church grim watched the young man leave, before turning his attention back to the trash. There was definitely something pungent smelling down there near the bottom that was worth eating.

~#~

"So... What's our plan?" asked Sam, easing himself back down into a lying position on the pew he seemed to have adopted for himself.

"Well, I hate to say it, but with you not exactly at the top of your game, and these things practically letting themselves in... I think we need to sit this one out," Dean answered apologetically.

" _What?_ We can't let that thing carry on out there."

Dean allowed his face, for just a second, to show in agreement with his brother, before he schooled it back into a more usual, harsh expression.

"Of course not," he frowned, trying to placate his brother into lying still before he re-opened any more stitches. "But we could do with some flares and... I dunno, maybe a flamethrower? Perhaps we should see if Garth can send a little help in our direction."

"For a _wendigo_?" Sam scrunched his face up as if in pain. In his youth he'd always said he didn't care about the Winchester name, but now, for some reason, the idea of just handing the hunt over to someone else really bothered him.

"Yeah, well it seems that starvation don't make 'em weak, it just gets 'em ornery. And don't forget we still don't know what really killed that guy we found."

Sam gave a noncommittal grunt and allowed himself the luxury of sulking for a couple of minutes. "Okay, so what do we do in the meantime?"

"Well, like I said, this place is a little too much like Grand Central Station for my liking. We should see what we can do to secure the exits. How much of those Anasazi protection symbols can you remember?"

Sam sighed. "Man, it's been a while since we last faced a wendigo."

Dean pulled an odd expression, as if recollecting an unpleasant memory.

Sam winced and mentally kicked himself for breaking the unspoken agreement not to talk about Purgatory. "I'm sure that together we can manage enough to get by," he added, forcing himself to sound far more optimistic than he felt.

"I guess we'll find out then," Dean smiled, but it was a hollow-eyed look he gave as he wandered off.

Sam wondered how long it had been since Dean had last had a decent night's sleep, but he suspected that if he asked the answer would be 'not since Alistair'. He pulled another deep sigh, wincing at the sharp pain that the movement caused to his ribs.

As time passed by and he stared up into the rafters, sleep evading him, Sam became aware that he was looking at a familiar looking sigil carved high up in the brickwork. It looked old, perhaps as old as the church itself. In fact, if it wasn't due to his unusual position of lying flat on his back on the pew it might never even have been seen at all. The shape tickled at the corners of his mind; he _knew_ he'd seen it somewhere before. He shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind; he needed to concentrate on the Anasazi symbols for now. If they managed to survive another wendigo attack there'd be plenty of opportunity to think about strange signs later.

The lights flickered and everyone froze. When the lights went out, everyone screamed.

~#~

"Sam? Sammy?" Dean screamed, yelping with pain as his thigh collided with the hard edge of a pew.

Sam pulled in a deep breath at the strangeness of being in such a deep, unending darkness. "Dean, I'm okay. I'm right here." He reached out and without even needing to think about it, managed to grab hold of his brother's forearm.

He felt Dean flinch and jolt hard beneath what must have been his unexpected touch. Sam cried out in shock and pain as a barrage of wild punches flew out and struck him on the chest and chin.

"Dean, stop! It's me, it's Sam!"

The lights flicked back into life. "It's all right; we must have lost main power. It happens from time-to-time, fortunately we've got a standby generator," said Ted. "And thank you, Lord, that it's actually decided to work this time," he added under his breath.

In the sudden light, Sam stared, still shocked, at the sight of Dean's wild staring eyes and heaving chest.

"S-sam?" asked Dean, in tremulous voice.

"I'm okay. I'm okay," Sam interrupted, horrified to see his older, _indestructible_ , brother shaking like a leaf. He used one large hand to guide Dean to sit down on one of the nearby pews. He felt ill-equipped to deal with this new out-of-character, docile version of his brother and instead decided they both could do with some space.

"Is everyone all right?" he called out to the wider room.

Dean blinked several times in rapid succession as if waking from a deep sleep, then nodded as he averted his face that had already turned a bright crimson.

Donnie made a hesitant approach and hovered at Sam's side. "Your lip, it's bleeding. Come on, let me fix you up."

Sam allowed himself to be led away.

~#~

Donnie tilted Sam's face up to the light and cast a critical look over the new bruise and cut-lip added to the already long list of injuries.

"So, here we are again," Donnie laughed. "I guess there's no danger of me getting out of practice during this vacation is there?"

"Yeah, I appreciate everything you've done for me, man. I'm sorry about all that," Sam apologized with a heavy sigh.

Donnie had noticed that Sam did that a lot. "So, does your brother have flashbacks often?"

"What? Dean? No, he's not..." Sam fell silent as he paused to consider. "Is that what you think?" he asked, his wide puppy-dog eyes seeming to beg, _No, please tell me that it isn't true_.

Donnie nodded. "Hey, listen, I'm not qualified to make any 'psychological evaluation', I just patch people up enough to get them to a hospital. But given what I've seen so far tonight, what you deal with, it's no great stretch to imagine you've both been through some pretty rough times."

Sam's shoulders slumped and he groaned as he held his head in his hands. "Man, you wouldn't believe the half of it. It just seems like recently, all I've done is let him down. I'm such a terrible brother."

"No, you're not," said Donnie, as he laid a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder. "Anyone can see how much you two care about each other; it's just not always that simple." He rubbed his other hand across the back of his neck, finding an odd comfort in the sensation of his fingers tracing the path of his long, twisting scar. "Sometimes bad things happen and there's absolutely nothing you can do to stop them, but I've found that having someone to talk to about it can help."

Donnie looked out through the open doorway to where he could see Cheryl and Aidan sitting huddled together. Cheryl looked up as if she could sense the touch of his sight, and gave him a quick, brave smile before turning back to her boyfriend. Buoyed up, Donnie patted Sam on the shoulder.

"There, all done. It was worse than it looked, these things often are," he said with a cheeky grin.

"Thanks, Donnie."

"If you want to thank me, go talk to your brother," Donnie laughed, giving Sam a gentle shove in the right direction.

~#~

Dean had managed to get his breathing under control. He missed Django's presence, having already dismissed the creature's offered affection, but it was more important that the grim patrol the boundary of the church grounds again, given how much more vulnerable they now seemed.

He could see his brother talking to Donnie. His stomach twisted in knots and he looked down to avoid the embarrassment of eye contact as he felt their gaze turn to him. It wasn't difficult to imagine their subject of conversation. It was good that Sam had someone to talk to, and that Donnie was a decent kid, even if he did seem a little skittish around Dean. _But who could blame him?_

Sam pulled his "man-up" face and Dean knew he was in trouble even before his brother started the walk over to him.

"Listen, Sammy, I was..." he said, failing to take control of the conversation as Sam interrupted him.

"Fighting for your survival, I get that, it's cool. But, man, you gotta understand that I have been too, in my own way. I thought I'd lost everything, Dean. _Everything_. I didn't know if you were alive or not."

"I'm sorry, Sammy. It was tough there. The only thing that kept me going was the thought that you still were out there and I guess I just assumed you'd want me back."

Sam exploded. "Of course I wanted you back. But back to what? It made me feel like I was being selfish. I thought you were dead. Crowley said you were out of his reach."

Dean went to interrupt, but Sam held up a hand to stop him. "Yes! I did check... Called in a few favors and did a fair amount of holy waterboarding too. I thought you and... Cas were in a better place."

Sam pulled an apologetic face as Dean growled and pushed his hand away. "I know you miss him..."

"I don't wanna talk about this..." grumbled Dean, starting to turn away. Sam grabbed hold of Dean's arm and tugged him back round to face him, shaking with emotion.

"You disappeared with a freakin' angel. For all I knew you were both back in Heaven, was I really supposed to drag you outta that? Haven't we learned anything?"

Dean snorted. "That was wishful thinking and you know it. When has _anything_ ever gone right for us?"

"I just wanted things to be normal and safe," said Sam in a calm voice, glossing over the true state of his mental health at the time. "I'm not you, Dean. I'll go where you lead, man, but I've had it with the hunter's life. What's it ever got us other than a lot of dead friends?"

"Listen, this life is all I know..."

"And don't I know it! You weren't even back a day before you were hell bent on dragging us off on some new holy quest. Only this time it's like you can't even stand me being around. I might as well be back on my own. I certainly couldn't feel any worse than I do now."

"Hey, that's not true!" cried Dean. They paused and the tension eased as they both laughed at the literal meaning of what Dean had just said.

Sam ran his hands through his hair and breathed a gentle sigh. "It just feels like you're pushing me away. I'm not asking you to braid my hair, but maybe let me in a little, huh?"

"Look at our life, dude," Dean said, gesturing to their surroundings. "If anyone was going to understand I thought it would be you."

Sam nodded. It wasn't fixed, but it was healing.

~#~

Donnie watched the Winchesters chalking the complex set of sigils on the hard flagstones of the church floor. It was a weird, if clearly effective, way to bond after clearing the air. The pair certainly seemed to carry around an impressive amount of supernatural lore in their heads. It was even more amusing watching Ted, who seemed in one moment just as intrigued, before being racked with sudden bouts of guilt over the heathen symbols being inscribed in the house of worship.

What had at first looked like random markings, now seemed to be coming together into a logical whole and there was a palpable sense of pressure and unease in the air. Donnie could almost feel the barrier forming around the main room and any skepticism he'd held faded. Instead he wondered, with a tremble, if it was only wendigo that the barrier would act against.

Relevant to that thought, he noticed a number of absences. "I think I'd better go round everyone up, guys," he called. Focused on remembering the complex inscriptions, Sam spared a quick, brief smile, while Dean just grunted without even bothering to look up.

Donnie bid a final farewell that went unacknowledged. He sighed as he slipped from the room with a shiver that wasn't entirely due to the cold outside.

~#~

The church ceilings might be high, but Karen could feel the ancient stones pressing down on her, crushing the breath from her body. The claustrophobic feeling worsened throughout the evening until she felt that if she didn't get out she was going to quite literally explode. There might be some sort of dangerous animal outside, but she didn't trust the people she was with, they all seemed "off" in one way or another. Experience had been a harsh taskmaster, but it had taught her well that by far the deadliest creature was man. She needed air and she'd rather take her chances outside.

The unrelenting darkness and chill of the Arctic-like conditions made her question her choice, but as her Daddy always used to say, once you made your bed you were supposed to lie in it.

Closing her eyes, she breathed deep, filling her lungs and reveling at how the cold bite of the night air both numbed and refreshed her. She stood in a silent meditation for several long minutes until, with an irritated sigh, she heard someone walking up behind her. In the dim light she had to squint to make out the dark figure looming over her. " _Aidan_?"

She was so cold that she almost didn't feel the swipe of the blade across her throat.

(;,;)


	4. Chapter 4

Donnie stepped out into the freezing night, pulling his thick, winter coat closer around him. Even now, after years of living here, there was still something he found disturbing about this degree of cold and the memories it conjured, if only because he felt he would never be completely free of his past.

He took several deep, calming breaths as he focused on the present; taking a childish delight at the sight of the smoke-like plumes of his exhalations and the burning sensation as the frigid air entered his lungs. The warmth of the church had been comforting in its own way, but it had all started to become a little claustrophobic and, as amazing as he found the grim, he still wasn't quite sure about Django.

He saw Karen wandering about just ahead of him; it looked like she was going to check on the generator. He didn't know her that well, she was more a friend of Cheryl's, but he'd always got an impression of steel underneath her surface appearance of vulnerability. He thought she was probably stronger and far more capable than anyone, including herself, realized.

_Let's hope we're all more capable_ , he considered, as he thought about recent events. _Poor Aidan, all he ever wanted was a chance to get to know some of Cheryl's friends a little better_.

He watched Karen as she reached the storage shed that Ted had pointed out to them earlier. He decided that he ought to at least offer to give her a hand - not that he knew what he was doing - since the last thing any of them needed was to be plunged back into darkness. He was about to call out a greeting when he stumbled in the snow, only just catching himself from landing on his ass. He tutted as one of his gloves slipped from his grasp and was carried by the wind behind one of the large banks of snow.

As he bent to the retrieve the offending item he noticed a figure pass by in the distinctive green of Aidan's parka. It always made him smile that the man had chosen a color that clashed so terribly with his hair...

_Oh!_

Donnie's thoughts dissolved and were lost in the scene of horror that unfurled before him. He threw his hands across his mouth to stop himself from shouting out in shock at what had just taken place.

He watched as Karen's body was dragged into the shed and out of sight. For many long, uncounted moments he sat shivering with cold and fright as he curled up in the snow.

A figure flickered into view, like bad inference on an old television set. Donnie felt too numb to even feel phased at seeing a spirit, but he still flinched at the force of the naked fury on her face.

"I'm so, so sorry," he whispered, but she couldn't hear as she stalked right through him in her determination to reach the church.

He hesitated, unsure which direction to take. Karen was _gone_. There was no guarantee that she'd even be able to cross the Winchesters' protection sigils. There were others he needed to think about. _What if Cheryl was next, or Sam?_ That decided it. He steeled himself and, silent as the ghost he'd just seen, made his careful way to the outbuilding.

~#~

"So, what'cha doing?" asked Cheryl, intrigued by the Winchesters and bored after seeming to have been abandoned by her friends and lover.

"Protective sigils," Dean grinned up at her from his inscribing on the church floor, as if that explained everything.

"And those will really stop that creature?" asked Cheryl, not making any pretense of hiding the skepticism in her voice.

Sam nodded from his seat on the pew. "Some say that it's the intent that's the important part, but in practice we've found that it's also the weight of tradition that's a deciding factor, particularly with the more sentient beings."

Cheryl blinked, as it felt like her mind had skipped a track, before Sam's words hit home. "There's even more out there than just _this_ , isn't there?"

It was Dean's turn to nod this time, in what she could only imagine was an apology at the destruction of her world view. "Don't let their appearance fool you, these things are ultimate hunters and far more clever than you or me."

Cheryl snorted at Dean's obvious, proud-big-brother exclusion of Sam from that category. "So is that all we've got going for us; some chalked graffiti on the floor?"

"Don't knock it, sister, this stuff actually works! Don't get me wrong; a wendigo's main vulnerability is fire, but unless you've got a flamethrower tucked away somewhere..."

Cheryl shrugged and let Dean get back to his work, but she did rummage around in her bag until she'd retrieved her disposable lighter.

~#~

Sam bit the sides of his mouth to stop himself from screaming in irritation at his brother. Task completed, Dean had spent the last twenty minutes pacing from one side of the church to the other, unwilling to leave his Sam's side. At long last Dean paused and Sam sighed in weary relief.

"Did you hear something?" Dean demanded, his voice sharp, so tense he was almost quivering.

Sam pulled himself up in his seat and made a show of listening carefully; he was well versed in playing along with this 'game'. Dean had made no bones about missing the purity of purgatory and the simple moral choices of 'kill or be killed'. There, Dean had explained, the fight was constant and unending, with something around each corner that was ready and willing to attack.

_This eternal waiting around must be torture for him_.

"Nah, it's just the wind," Sam said in a slow voice, after a moment.

Dean nodded in distracted disbelief, before resuming his pacing. "This is all my fault," he muttered to himself, over and over.

Sam had had enough. "It's _not_ your fault, Dean."

Dean glared at him, his eyes piercing and haunted. "No? Well who led those things here?"

Sam closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "You weren't to know. Anyway, what's the alternative? We'd have died out there in this weather."

He shifted to face Dean, but the sudden movement jolted his injuries, making him gasp out in pain, so he didn't quite catch whatever it was his brother had mumbled in reply. In an instant, Dean was by Sam's side, running his focused gaze over Sam's wounds.

"Oh man, I'm sorry," Dean said, his features pale and drawn.

Sam had never felt closer to tears, as anger, frustration, and guilt all vied to be the main culprit.

~#~

Cheryl was just lamenting the lack of suitable pockets in female attire for her new provisions, when she spotted her errant boyfriend.

"Where've you been?" she demanded, making a point of not masking her irritation at being left alone, as Aidan crossed the room towards her. She did a double-take at the uncharacteristic look of vulnerability on his face as he sat down beside her. "Hey, are you all right?"

Cheryl's annoyance faded, and her heart did its usual little blip of joy at the way he looked at her, before the inevitable shutters came crashing down behind his eyes to hide his emotions. She laid her hand on his. "You're freezing! Did you go outside?"

Aidan shook his head. "Why's it so cold in here?" His teeth were chattering, and Cheryl was surprised to see the white plumes of his breath.

Concerned, she wrapped an arm around Aidan; she wondered if he'd left a door open as the temperature in the room seemed to plummet.

~#~

Karen was incandescent with rage. _How dare he? How dare he kill me? After everything I've been through? I always thought he looked down on me, and he barely even knew me..._

She thrust her hand back into his chest and smiled as her fingers burned through his heart and into his very soul.

It seemed that being a vengeful spirit was its own reward.

~#~

Complaints about the lack of heat were soon forgotten as Cheryl became aware of a growl so deep and low that she could feel the ribs in her chest start to vibrate in sympathy. She tried to swallow, her mouth as dry as bone, as the huge church grim started a slow, menacing pad towards them.

She wanted to call out, or turn towards the Winchesters for help; after all, Dean seemed to have an affinity for the creature, didn't he? But it was as if her body had betrayed her, too frozen in the depths of its own terror to respond to her instructions.

The - _whatever-it-was_ \- had saved her earlier; surely it wasn't going to hurt her now? She noticed that it was staring towards Aidan, not her. She tried not to think too much about the condition of the dead man she'd discovered earlier, but part of the reason everyone had fled the main room was to escape the tension that had ratcheted up between the Winchester brothers over the actions and trustworthiness of this very animal. She'd known more than a few dog owners in her time who couldn't believe their snarling 'babies' could ever be a threat. She wondered, with a bleak resignation, if Dean now fell into that category.

The animal seemed to stare off into space and made a long, growling announcement. Done, it turned and strode from the room.

Her heart was pounding and she felt sick and shaky, but she managed to get herself back under control. She laid a hand on Aidan's arm, unsure if by the gesture she was giving or receiving comfort. Ironically, Aidan now looked like his color was returning.

"Dean," she called, the tone of her voice attracting the man's immediate attention. "I think there's something wrong with Django."

Dean cursed and she didn't miss the significant look that passed between the brothers, as part of her wanted to curl up in guilt to have introduced yet another hurdle in their relationship.

~#~

Dean and Ted both looked up, cocking their heads in unison, and, despite the tension in the room, Sam struggled not to laugh at the ridiculous image. "What is it?"

"He was talking to someone," Dean answered slowly, and, in an out-of-character move, turned to the priest for moral support.

"Huh?"

"Tiangou," said Ted, seeming to rush to Dean's defense albeit with an apologetic tone that revealed he knew it wasn't going to be what Sam wanted to hear. "He was telling someone to calm down and follow him."

As Dean got to his feet and dusted himself down, he looked around and seemed to notice for the first time that most of their group were missing. He held out an accusatory finger at Sam and raised his eyebrows in an expression that would brook no argument. " _You_ are staying here."

He turned and left before Sam had a chance to pull one of his usual tried-and-tested manipulative expressions. He wanted to imagine he'd have gone for the soulful puppy-eyes, but, given their recent history, it probably would have been what Dean had dubbed his 'bitch face'.

_At least it might have shown he's not so keen on dogs after all_.

~#~

At first Karen had felt compelled to follow the creature's summoning, but now she was outside she just glared at the dog.

_How could it even speak, anyway?_

" _What do you remember?_ " the grim asked, its eyes seeming to bore down into her soul.

As her initial surprise at understanding the creature faded, she considered its words while burying her hands in the comfort of its warm fur. The memories came thick and fast in an overpowering onslaught and it was like reliving the experience for a second time.

She recalled how her blood ( _so much blood_ ) had splashed out over the pristine, white snow as she realized that she'd never lived the life she could have had, or that she'd deserved, only the restricted role imposed on her. She'd courted her own demise, all the while blaming herself for the actions of others.

_What a waste_.

Her arms were no way long enough to wrap around the creature's body, but she held on tight as she sobbed into its neck.

" _What do you feel?_ " asked the grim, as it licked away her tears.

Watching her own body cooling in the snow had been like staring at a stranger. But then the anger had kicked in and it had seemed so _powerful_ ; it had felt so _righteous_.

_But it wasn't_.

It would have led to nothing but more pain and death. She didn't need it anymore. Now she knew that she wasn't that victim anymore.

_I won't allow it_.

Despite the lack of working lungs, she still managed a snort at the cliché of the tunnel of warm light that appeared and led off into the heavens. As she followed that path, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the faithful, four-legged companion trotting along at her side and gave him a small smile.

_Thank you._

She gave him a brief pat on the head when he'd come as far as he was able, but found that she wasn't even tempted to look behind her. It just wasn't her problem anymore. The answers she wanted, the questions she hadn't even imagined, were waiting ahead of her. Her eyes widened.

_Oh!_

She left her old life behind and moved on to the next stage of her existence.

~#~

As Donnie slipped through the door into the shed, he tried, with only limited success, to not look at what had been done to Karen's body. He had seen a lot in his life, much of it disturbing and unpleasant, but somehow he was still surprised by the depths of depravity in the human soul.

_It's strange the things your mind chooses to notice in stressful situations_ , Donnie considered, feeling light-headed as he realized the man in the green coat with his back to him, hard at work with a knife, had black, _not red_ , hair.

He gasped when he realized that he might not be the only one who had been confused as to the identity of the killer. _Or the extent of his kills_.

"Donnie. I just... found her like this," said Lee in a low, calm monotone as he turned towards the source of the sound. He wiped the back of his hand - still holding the knife - across his mouth leaving behind a long smear of blood.

"I know it was you... you killed them _all_ , didn't you?"

"I don't know what you mean," said Lee, with a smirk.

"Don't deny it, I saw you."

"What you gonna do, go running after your Sam like the little bitch you are?" Lee sneered, seeming to have moved across the room in an instant to hold his blade against Donnie's neck. "I've seen you panting all over him, you're _pathetic_."

Donnie laughed. "I don't _love_ him, you moron. He's like Elvis... I _worship_ him."

Lee looked at him with an expression of utter disgust.

"You don't even know who he is, do you?" snorted Donnie, his lips twisted in disdain. "He was Lucifer's chosen vessel on earth. One day he'll see sense... and then he'll rule over Hell and lead us all to salvation. _It's meant to be_."

"You're crazy."

Donnie laughed at the irony of the source of those words and he shook his head as much as he could, given the circumstances. "No, I'm _devout_."

Lee frowned in confusion and pushed the blade closer.

"Sam would _never_ harm a human being," said Donnie, as his eyes went pure black. "Which is why I'm gonna do it for him," he hissed, as he grabbed the knife and forced it into Lee's chest.

He wasn't _quite_ demon enough to really enjoy taking human life, but it didn't bother him _too_ much; he was used to making sacrifices for others.

~#~

_"And she'll get better? And it won't come back?" He winced at quite how desperate he sounded, even to his own ears._

_The beautiful woman in the ball gown smiled, displaying the feral white teeth of a predator, her refined appearance at odds with the run-down, deserted country-crossroads. "Yes, as per the deal, your sister will go into complete remission, and she won't die of that cancer."_

_Something bothered him about the wording, but, in his agitated state, the specifics escaped him._

_"So? Ready?" the woman asked, raising a single, perfectly arched eyebrow._

_He took a deep breath and tried to prepare himself, but he knew he must look every inch as wrecked and vulnerable as he felt. "Will it hurt?" he asked, his voice shaking._

_"Oh, yes. It's eternal torment, did I forget to mention that part?" laughed the red-eyed demon, as she leaned in and kissed him, ripping the soul from his body._

~#~

Donnie stood frozen in numb shock, as he stared down at the still-twitching body. It had all seemed so straightforward at the time. He couldn't quite bring himself to regret his actions, something had needed to be done to stop this... _monster_ , but he did wonder how he was going to explain it.

_Sam's going to be so cross with me_ , he thought, devastated.

He didn't even realize he still held the knife until it dropped from his hand. The clang of the metal of the blade hitting the floor brought his attention back to his current situation. He peered closer, surprised to see that there was still a small spark of life remaining, but he'd have to work fast; it wouldn't last for long.

Now it seemed that it was his turn to scrawl out ancient symbols. They weren't like Sam's; they were in blood, not chalk, and they weren't keeping something out. They were most certainly inviting someone in.

Donnie chanted the final words of the summoning and sat back, exhausted, waiting to see if it had had any effect. He'd already decided that he'd taken too long when Lee opened his eyes; for a brief instant they flashed a dark, murky grey, like storm clouds over a summer sky.

'Lee' gave a broad grin. "Hello, stranger. Long time, no see."

Donnie hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath until he released it in an explosive sigh of relief. "You sure you weren't followed?"

Lee sat up and looked around with visible interest. "No worries, I took the scenic route." His eyes took on an unfocused gaze as he lost himself in his own thoughts. After a moment or two he shuddered. "Urgh, this guy's nuttier than a bag of squirrels, isn't he?" Lee complained, as he pulled himself the rest of the way to his feet.

"You'll get no argument from me," said Donnie, "just remember that you have to pass for him. How's the wound?"

Lee paused. "Not good... Ah, he just died," he grimaced.

"He had to be stopped," said Donnie, the defensiveness clear in his voice.

Lee returned a disappointed look. "It's trying to play God that got you into this mess in the first place."

Donnie dropped his eyes to the ground. "Sorry," he whispered.

"Don't be," Lee insisted, "the thoughts and memories in here... _vile_ doesn't even _start_ to describe it. He'll fit right in downstairs." He looked down at Karen's remains, his face twisting in horror. "How are we going to explain what happened to this poor soul?"

"There's a wendigo; it's already killed someone else."

Lee looked surprised. "Really? What _have_ you got yourself into?" He blinked slowly and his eyes went a cloudy grey as he seemed, once more, to lose himself in his own thoughts. "Oh! No, that was this guy as well," he said in a hoarse, horrified voice. He opened his eyes in shock. "And there's a _church grim,_ too?"

It was with a sinking feeling that Donnie sensed the presence of someone behind him, before hearing a low, rumbling growl. He turned, already cringing, to see the grim in an agitated state with its fur bristling and standing on end, making it seem even larger than usual. It stood stock still, giving them a long piercing look that, even if it hadn't had wings, removed any doubts as to its supernatural origin. Donnie could feel that gaze laying him bare, piercing down through layers of darkness to that tiny spark of light that was all that remained of his soul.

Donnie froze, trying not to even breathe, as the creature took another step towards him. He screeched in relieved, mock-outrage as the large, slobbering tongue once again wiped it's way up the side of his face. "Sheesh, I'm _not_ a salt lick. I bet I don't even taste nice, do I?"

Django gave one of his laugh-like huffs, then a curious, but somehow knowing, nod at Lee. He followed with a series of whines and low barks, as he cast a significant look towards the door and back again.

"Sorry, but I'm guessing only the saved can understand you, yeah? And I think we all know that's not gonna include us any time soon."

" _Donnie!_ " hissed Lee.

"Oh, shush," said Donnie, waving a placating hand in his friend's direction, "I'm pretty sure he figured it all out a while ago." He turned back to Django.

"You know what we are, right?" he asked, gesturing at Lee - ignoring the glare the man gave him - and himself.

Django huffed and pulled on Donnie's pants leg with his teeth.

"What's up? Little Timmy fall down a well?" Donnie crossed his arms and tried to stand with at least some dignity, only to fall back as Django barked in agitation. Lee flinched, but tried to otherwise remain still.

"I'm not sure we can go back in there," said Donnie in a low voice, thinking back to the Winchesters' sigils, as he held his head from the pain of the supernatural bark.

An unimpressed looking Django just growled. The meaning was clear: _Why are you still talking? Get a move on!_

Donnie threw up his arms. "You're right. It'd be a shame for us to come this far only to end up as wendigo chow, as I'm sure it doesn't care about the state of our souls either."

Django cocked his head at a sound that it seemed only he could hear.

"Come on then," said Donnie, sharing a look of alarm with Lee, as they noticed that the grim had changed the object of his growling back to the door. "Let's get out of here."

~#~

_He'd been warned, but when it came down to it, he was just too slow. As he was caught and dragged off to be the plaything of some high-ranking demon that wanted to practice its knife work, the other lost souls had done nothing but stare in wide-eyed relief that it wasn't them._

_Fortunately, his torturer had soon grown bored with the ease in which it was able to induce terror and had abandoned him for more challenging prey. Bound in chains, and cold beyond all measure, he stared in jealousy at the sight of the souls writhing in the sulfurous lakes of fire. The physical torment of unending, burning flesh was nothing if it meant simulating even a moment of the warmth of His love. Forever lost._

_After the longest time he at last realized that all around him were screaming and shouting, but not with horror and despair. That was nothing more than business as usual here; too unremarkable for notice. No, this was an emotion entirely alien to this place._

**_Hope._ **

_Despite the pain from months of torture, he lifted his head from the rack and watched the smoke-like denizens of Hell flee past him._

_"Azazel has succeeded," came the triumphant bellow from a passing Knight of Hell, its immense, misshapen bulk tipping the rack to the gore-soaked ground._

_He pulled himself up and was amazed to find that, for the first time in longer than he could remember, he was no longer chained down._

_The faded remnants of what might once have been a woman paused and bared its teeth at him in a sickening parody of a grin, its black eyes gleaming. "The Gates are_ **_open_** _," it screeched, before fleeing after the lumbering Knight._

_He didn't need to be told twice. He pushed and shoved himself up the long, winding corridors and fought his way through the teeming crowds of the twisted, wailing damned; all of them desperate to escape the unspeakable and unthinkable horrors of this realm._

_He took one more step and then he felt himself come apart._ _I'm free! he thought, elated, as his body became a thick, oily smoke that rose up into the cold night air._

_As he circled above the cemetery, trying to get his bearings, he caught a glimpse of_ **_him_** _, the boy king, standing proud against the demonic hordes. There was no mistaking the beauty of that stained, but still glorious soul._ _One day, he promised. But first there were things he needed to do and places he needed to go._

**_Home._ **

~#~

Even when he'd first laid eyes on the young man and discerned Donnie's true nature, Django had somehow known they still weren't exactly on opposite sides. But to discover not one, but two demons on a path to salvation seemed a little strange and unlikely - to both of them as well, he was sure.

Donnie had muttered that this must have been the longest, strangest game of charades he'd ever played, but in the end they'd managed to communicate a plan to hide the truth from the Winchesters. One silver lining was that it was easier to mime _wendigo_ when you had one scratching at the door to get in.

However, there was more than a little untruthfulness mixed up in the arrangement and, while it was unsurprising that this didn't seem to bother the near-demons too much, it gave Django a vague feeling of indigestion. If this was the 'free will' that had the higher beings all up-in-arms then, in his opinion, it was more than a little overrated.

Sam was the common denominator in everyone's concerns. Donnie gave a worried look. "He's a clever man; he won't be as easily distracted as your master."

Django took a good look around to ensure that the fleet-footed priest was nowhere within earshot. " _Don't worry about that, he'll probably think it was me anyway,_ " he snorted. He gave a low whine of unhappiness at the thought of the added upset this was going to cause. " _The Righteous One will probably take the blame, as usual._ _It's only what he's been led to expect._ "

He watched as Donnie shrugged, knowing the demon could only perceive his words as growls, but guessing that some of the sentiment still came through.

"It'll be _fine!_ " Donnie smiled.

~#~

Django knew they'd misjudged their plan the moment they ran back into the church. At first they'd all been far too pleased to discover the anti-wendigo sigils had no effect on them to realize what their hasty 'explanation' was doing.

The righteous one was already on the war path and not, it seemed, agreeable to just sitting around on his backside while innocent mortals got picked off one-by-one.

"Stay here and guard them. Okay?" ordered Dean.

His heart ached, but he just couldn't bring himself to ignore a direct order. So he watched his new, beloved master walk into who-knows-what, while he waited.

_Protecting the damned._

~#~

" _Hey, come here_."

Django looked up and cocked his head at the faint sound. _Was that Dean?_ There was a lack of response from anyone else, but he'd noticed that humans didn't seem to hear anything until it was practically on top of them.

" _I've got something for you to eat_."

Relieved to hear his master's voice, and with the promise of food thrown into the bargain, he didn't need to be told twice. He bounded to his feet and ran to the door.

~#~

Without taking his eyes off the room's exits, Sam shifted in the pew again while doing his best to still his groans from the discomfort of his wounds. He wished Dean was here. _The short, bossy jerk_. The self-serving part of his brain pointed out that it was _that_ _jerk_ who could always be relied on to take care of him when he was injured, patching him up and numbing the pain by plying him with booze or whatever he could score from the motel car park.

He arched a brow as he realized that he now had not one, but two carers who seemed more than willing to step into that currently-vacant role. Carers who appeared to be arguing. About him.

"Look at his face, he's in agony," Lee whispered to Donnie. Sam wondered when Lee had started to give a damn about something other than himself.

"I can't sedate him with that thing out there! What if we need to get away quick?" Donnie hissed in response. He seemed to sense Sam's attention and turned on a wide smile that made no effort to reach his eyes. "Hi, Sam. You all right?"

"Thanks guys, but I can't risk pain meds while Dean's out there without backup," Sam sighed, oddly touched. He watched confused as their faces dropped and a strange silent conversation seemed to pass between them, similar to the kind of thing he shared with Dean. He hadn't even realized Donnie and Lee were that close.

"Don't worry, Sam. If it comes to it, I've got Dean's back," said Lee with a profound sincerity. For a moment it seemed to Sam that Donnie was about to argue, but Lee placed a hand on his shoulder and another emotionally-charged _look_ passed between them.

"I'll go. You stay here, you _both_ need to rest," warned Donnie, his face twisted in a sick expression of resolution.

Sam found he needed to swallow and turned his gaze away. The whole tableau was way too reminiscent of his dad and Dean and their irrational need to protect him no matter how great the cost to themselves.

He tried to distract himself by focusing on the church grim that had jumped to its feet and was now glaring at the door. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself at the way the grim pawed at the handle in vain, before shouldering open the door with a loud crash.

"I guess that'll do it," muttered Sam, trying to hide his amusement.

He jolted with shock as Django came flying back into the room with a piercing yelp and collapsed to the ground in a boneless heap. A pool of blood spread-out from the motionless body.

A wendigo stalked into the room with what looked like one of the scaffolding poles from the outside of the church in one hand. Despite the threat, Sam couldn't help a fleeting moment of satisfaction as he noticed the mangled remains of its other hand. The creature kept its distance from the inscribed markings on the floor as it stepped around the room with all the fastidious care of some nightmarish, upright cat. Its head twisted and turned in a serpentine manner as if tasting the air. It hissed in displeasure when it found it couldn't reach the room's occupants and instead headed back to the fallen grim.

Django gave a blood-curdling, piercing howl, as he was pinned down by the beast that seemed to take great delight in scraping its razor sharp claws along his side.

Sam heard Lee gasp, and felt the man shift at his side. The wendigo turned its attention at the movement and, just for the briefest instant, Sam could have sworn he saw a flicker of shocked recognition in the creature's eyes. The moment passed and, as if realizing its mistake, the wendigo reared back in a sudden, ferocious roar of rage and began hurling itself against the invisible barrier.

~#~

Aidan stepped in front of Cheryl; he didn't think he could actually stop the creature, but just preventing it from being able to look at her made him feel strangely better. Cheryl laid a hand on his shoulder, seeming to draw courage from his strength. She stepped around and in front of him, edging closer but still keeping a wary distance as she raised a spray can of deodorant he'd noticed she'd earlier retrieved from her bag.

She used her lighter to ignite the spray, and the resulting plume of fire made the wendigo scurry back in fear. It howled at her, then turned and ran.

"I'm never going to nag you about your smoking again," said Aidan, the pride and awe clear in his voice.

~#~

Donnie walked back into the utility shed with a heavy heart. A heart that almost burst until he realized that the figure bent over Karen's body with its back to him was Dean. It made sense that this was where he would find him. The guy really needed to stop torturing himself because, as Donnie has learned to his cost, there was no shortage of people who were more than willing to do it for you.

"Hey, are you all right?"

Dean didn't even start. Donnie had a strong suspicion that Dean had heard and identified him from his footsteps before he'd even opened the door. _I guess there are some advantages to hypervigilance when you're in his line of work_ , thought Donnie.

"And you're sure a wendigo did this?" Dean asked in a soft voice, half turning so that Donnie could at least see his side-profile, if not his facial expression.

_Wow, I'm really getting the cardiac workout tonight_ , thought Donnie, not sure how it was that everyone in the whole damn state couldn't hear the deafening pounding emanating from his chest.

"Y-yeah, why'd you ask?"

"No reason..."

_Except you don't trust me - you don't trust anyone - you can probably sense I'm a bit more demon-y than I look, and now you're gonna gank me_ , supplied Donnie mentally.

"Just these wound patterns don't quite match," Dean muttered.

Donnie tried not fidget.

Dean sighed. "It's like a wendigo decided to use a knife..."

An awful, unearthly howling saved him from having to concoct a suitable answer. He ran after Dean, back in the direction of the church, only to almost collide with the man as Dean came to a sudden halt. A still-smoking wendigo ran out in front of them and made a wide circuit of the courtyard as it rounded back at them.

"Run," screamed Dean, dragging Donnie by the wrist towards the safety of the church.

Donnie didn't need to be told twice, sobbing in fear at the wendigo that he was sure was mere inches behind him. His feet struck something large and black that was otherwise invisible in the dark of the room and he went flying. He landed with a grunt, winded, but somehow having avoided smashing his head against the stone flooring.

He looked back in irritation to see that it was Django's body he'd tripped over, and he couldn't help but call out in shock. Shaken, but otherwise not too badly hurt, he leaned over the dog, taking in the extent of its injuries.

"Get in the circle," hissed Aidan from the safety of behind the sigils, obviously not wanting to raise his voice any louder than he had to. Donnie turned to him in confusion, swapping a wide-eyed, terrified gaze with Cheryl.

He couldn't just leave Django there. He started dragging the dog towards the symbols.

A wordless sound of fear from behind was all he needed to hear to let him know that the wendigo was back in the room. He was pleased, but unsurprised to find Dean at his side, helping to drag the dog-thing into the circle.

Both Sam and the wendigo leaped across the room as they simultaneously saw the mistake being made by the men. The wendigo barreled into Dean, knocking him to the ground where he lay dazed. Donnie took a glancing, back-handed blow and it was his turn to fly across the room. His head smacked down hard against the stone flagging and he collapsed to the floor, black dots overtaking his vision. He couldn't help but think it was ironic that he was probably going to die from an injury almost identical to the one that had rendered his host body brain dead.

He looked on with fraternal pride as Cheryl recovered her wits to drive the creature back again with her improvised flamethrower. Meanwhile, Ted, under Sam's guidance, redrew the symbols that had been erased by Django's body being dragged across them.

The creature's face twisted in a parody of an intelligent look as it grabbed hold of one of the pews and pulled hard, its wiry muscles straining. It made a cackling, half-laugh of satisfaction as much of the wooden frame came away in its hands. Almost without any visible sign of effort it swung round and released the wood to go sailing through the air and across the sigil protected area.

Aidan turned just a moment too late, the ad-hoc missile swiping his legs from under him, as Cheryl screamed and ran to his side. Donnie turned to Sam and Lee with a begging look in his wide eyes, before staggering over to join her.

Lee gave him a solemn nod of understanding as he ran and retrieved the canister and lighter from where they lay on the ground. Screeching in anger, he ran full tilt at the wendigo.

There was a fiery blast, and Donnie's head fell back against the ground, darkness rising up once more to silence the terrible screams of dying.

~#~

Donnie came back to consciousness to find Dean staring down at him with a faint, approving expression.

"Not bad work."

_High praise indeed_. "What happened?" he groaned, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

"Lee... didn't make it. Sorry."

Donnie tried not to look at the sight of the blackened bodies, twisted together in death, that Ted was thoughtfully in the process of covering with a sheet. He could only hope that his friend and mentor had 'smoked away' in the confusion without anyone noticing.

"Listen," said Dean, with a contrite look, "It... it seems this wendigo wasn't as averse to using tools as I originally thought. Sorry I doubted you."

Distracted, Donnie blinked in shock at the apology. "No problem," he answered, absently, trying not to let it sound like a question. He breathed a sigh of relief as he spotted that both Sam and Cheryl were unhurt.

Dean smirked as he spotted the object of Donnie's attention.

"Y'know Cheryl was really devastated you got hurt. I hafta say, she seems pretty much into that boyfriend of hers, but I'm sure I could put in a good word..." Donnie could almost hear the _click_ as Dean's bad-boy persona slid back into place.

"Oh, no," interrupted Donnie, horrified at the insinuation, "she's... like... _my sister_."

"Okay, just sayin'," Dean said with wink as he got to feet, dusted down his jeans, and headed back to his own sibling.

~#~

"I'm okay," said Sam, fending off his brother's ministrations.

"Yeah, you say that now, but I really don't want to find you bleedin' out somewhere in a couple of hours' time," argued Dean, pushing closer and inspecting Sam's bandages.

"Jeez, Dean, I'm not a little kid anymore," whined Sam, hating himself even while slapping his brother's hands away. His heart was pounding and he couldn't explain why he didn't want anyone touching him. It was just too much; he just needed some space, not a full-on in-your-face Dean doing his best mother hen impression.

Sam tried not to think about the look of deep hurt that flashed for a brief second across Dean's face.

"Okay, okay, forgive a guy for caring about his family," said Dean, backing up, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. For a moment he looked pained, and seemed to be on the verge of apology, before he shook his head and scowled instead. "You just had to say; there's no need to be a little bitch about it."

"Is he all right?" Donnie asked Sam in a hushed tone, biting his lip and looking on with concern as Dean stalked off with a face like thunder.

Sam looked exhausted. Exhausted and defeated. For one brief moment it was written clear across his face that Sam thought about lying, but then he seemed to slump as if deciding there was no point.

"No. He's not been right for a long time. I think I'm just getting that now."

" _Have_ you tried to talk to him?" Donnie asked in a gentle tone that was only slightly chiding.

Sam pulled a pained expression and fidgeted. "Well, as much as we ever can."

Donnie felt a little uncomfortable himself. "Sometimes even the closest families can... grow apart. Isn't there anyone else he can talk to?"

Somehow, Sam managed to scrunch up his face even more. "In our line of work, we don't exactly have a lot of friends. There is someone, but..."

Donnie laughed. "Let me guess, you... don't approve of him? Think he's a 'bad influence'?"

Sam pouted. "Yeah, let's just say I think the guy's bad news. I'm not sure I trust him."

"Well, I think everyone has at least one 'friend' who's just draining," Donnie muttered to himself, thinking of recent events.

Sam snorted in amusement, although Donnie didn't get what was so humorous.

~#~

"You need to talk to someone," Sam said, not able to stop the automatic frown that he knew would only tip his brother over the edge into defensiveness.

"Oh, you reckon, do you? Look, we've already had our little brother-bonding moment for this week, can't we just move it on?"

"I didn't mean _me_. Besides, Donnie agrees too."

"Oh well, if _Donnie_ says so," said Dean, rolling his eyes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "So what, you been talking about me? How your big, bad brother needs a shrink?"

Sam picked up Dean's cell, selected a contact, and handed it back to his brother. "Sure, if that's what you want. Or you could just phone a friend."

Dean had his best, blank poker face on as he took the phone and stared at the highlighted number. He looked up, his eyes wide, looking bruised and haunted, catching Sam's gaze in an unspoken moment of vulnerability and hesitant gratitude.

Sam nodded slowly. Dean pressed the call button and started to walk away.

"Hey," said Dean in a soft, cracked voice as the line picked up.

"It's good to hear from you, brother," came the deep, southern twang in response.

~#~

The storm had cleared. "It's good to be shot of those dark clouds at last," Dean breathed, as he gazed through the window up to a clear, pale blue sky.

Django, not listening, instead cast a covetous glance up at the sun and licked his chops. " _One day,_ " he muttered. Dean blinked and decided he must have imagined it.

"You gonna be all right?"

Django panted with a look of utter contentment as he settled himself back down on his haunches. " _Yes, just hungry,_ " he grinned, trying and failing to give an inscrutable expression.

Dean turned his attention to Sam, as his brother limped up to him, looking almost completely rested from the days waiting for the blizzard to clear. "I can't believe Ted packed us a lunch for our trip," he smirked.

Sam chuckled, "It'll help keep you going till the next burger place, I'm sure. Besides, I think he's grateful, this has reminded him that he does actually have faith."

Dean snorted, ever the skeptic when it came to God, but he still cast a thoughtful gaze over towards the pastor who was trying in vain to reattach the broken sword to the statue of Michael, under the watchful eye of Django.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, paused, then asked a different question to the one he'd intended.

"You think Heaven's finished with us?"

Sam focused on Dean with an intensity that was almost painful. "We'll find him, Dean, I promise. Have faith in that."

Not trusting himself to speak, Dean nodded. He cleared his throat and he walked over to the statue as both Ted and Django turned to watch him.

"So, uh, I guess this is goodbye."

"If I may have a moment?" asked Ted, leading Dean to one side.

~#~

Sam stood watching Django watching him in return.

"Well, this isn't awkward," muttered Sam, under his breath. "Nice doggie."

" _Woof_ ," said Django, before sneezing over him.

Sam wiped himself down, narrowing his eyes at the grim with the distinct suspicion that it had been deliberate.

" _No! There's gotta be a way._ "

He and Django looked around to the source of the raised voices. Seeing that both Ted and Dean seemed distressed they wandered over.

"What's up, guys?" Sam asked, noticing the guilty look that both men shared.

"I think you should tell him," growled Dean, "he deserves to know."

Ted sighed. "It's the church. What with the constant vandalism and the falling attendance... Well, there's been talk of closing us down..."

Sam made a suitably apologetic face, surprised to see Dean pale and clench his jaw. He frowned at his brother in confusion before following his gaze to the grim and at last catching the implication.

Something tickled at the edges of his mind. "Wait!" he cried as he led them at a hobbling pace back into the seating area of the church. He peered up into the rafters, pushing away Dean's steadying hands, until he located the spot just above the pew on which he'd been sleeping.

"Look," he cried in triumph, pointing up to a carving in the ceiling, faded with age and layers of dust. "I _knew_ you couldn't be a church grim, not with _these_ ," he declared, flicking at Django's wings with mock disdain.

Django huffed in irritation and licked at the site of the touch with a glare in Sam's direction.

Dean stared up at the glyph. "Where have I seen that symbol before? It's killing me!" He racked his brain.

"He's a _tulpa_ ," Sam explained. "He'll become whatever we believe him to be."

~#~

Django watched the large man dash around in excitement and really, if it wasn't for the pervasive stench of hellfire, he'd have warmed to the stupidly tall, puppy-like human.

He quite liked what he was already and so was somewhat offended at this insinuation he would want to become something else. He might have no recollection of the carving, but he still had a vague recollection of his origin.

"I _came from across sea. Men far from home remembered ancient stories. When they moved on, so did I."_

He snorted when they didn't seem to get it. " ** _Always_** _been dog._ **_Always_** _will be._ "

Ted smiled, giving him a cautious pat on the head. "Of course you will, but I'd like to believe that you might want to come with me to my next assigned church?"

Django grinned, but ducked his head at Dean in a submissive gesture.

Dean waved an unconcerned hand. "Well, I'm not planning on letting an angel up inside me anytime soon..." He scowled at Sam's amused snort. "But I do think the _padre_ here could do with your protection more than us. And you do seem a bit allergic to us," he added, wiping down the spray on his jeans leg _again_.

Django nodded. Despite the awful stench, he truly could never have asked for a wiser, more self-sacrificing master.

~#~

Sam rolled his eyes at the sound of the blaring-loud, classic rock and the piercing blast of the Impala's horn from outside. He considered how it was just like his brother to try to avoid all the emotional fallout of a goodbye, so it was with some surprise to hear the engine cut out and a moment later for Dean to appear in the doorway of the church.

He watched with a growing lump in his throat as Dean made an obviously fond farewell with Cheryl and Aidan, all the while keeping one hand buried in the scruff of Django's neck.

He turned an apologetic smile on Donnie as he realized he hadn't taken in a single word the younger man had just said to him.

"Thanks for everything, dude," Sam said, the words heartfelt as he wrapped Donnie in a large bear hug and slapped him manfully on the back.

Donnie grinned in delight. "Any time, Sam. It was my pleasure."

Dean finally managed to tear himself away, patting Donnie on the shoulder as he walked by with a cheery wink. "Yeah, thanks man. You take care."

"You too, guys," Donnie called after them, with a bright sparkle in his eyes. "I'm sure we'll meet again one day."

~#~

_I know we never will be perfect_  
 _Never entirely clear..._  
 _...We get hurt and we just panic_  
 _And we strike out, out of fear_

**_\- 'Come in from the Cold', Joni Mitchell_ **

**THE END**

(;,;)

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to the Ficwise writing group.


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